


It's a Long, Long Road

by Astrid_B_Caine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adult Content, Anger, Angry Sam Winchester, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkward Sexual Situations, Bisexual Sam, Budding Love, Canon Divergence, Communication Failure, Dean Winchester Takes Care of Sam Winchester, Drama, Emotional Hurt, Emotionally Hurt Dean Winchester, Emotionally Hurt Sam, Emotions, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fighting Winchesters, First Love, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Lack of Communication, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, No Sex, No Underage Sex, Nudity, POV Alternating, POV Dean Winchester, POV Sam Winchester, Pajamas & Sleepwear, Pining Sam, Podfic Welcome, Possibly Unrequited Love, Post-Stanford, Pre-Stanford, Protective Dean Winchester, Running Away, Sam Winchester Takes Care of Dean Winchester, Season/Series 01, Season/Series 02, Sexual Intimidation, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Sibling Incest, Slow Burn, Stanford Era, Tags Contain Spoilers, Tender Dean, Unrequited Lust, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wincest Big Bang 2016, mostly canonverse, references to sexual thoughts by an underaged person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 05:29:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8520289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astrid_B_Caine/pseuds/Astrid_B_Caine
Summary: Set between pre-series up to season 2: 
Sam realizes early on that he's in love with Dean, but he knows it's impossible. When he decides that he can get away from the family business as well as Dean as a temptation by going to college, he grabs his chance. Dean is stunned and hurt to think of a life without Sam. They embark on a long road to realize what they mean to each other, while apart and when they are together.





	1. 1998: Sam

**Author's Note:**

> Art by [kuwlshadow](http://kuwlshadow.livejournal.com/56589.html). Thank you so much!
> 
> Beta: A million and one thanks to my awesome and very patient beta [EnderBerlyn!](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EnderBerlyn/)
> 
> For [wincestbigbang 2016 on LiveJournal](http://wincestbigbang.livejournal.com/32811.html).
> 
> Lyrics by for ' _He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother_ ' ©1924 by Bobby Scott and Bob Russell.

**1998: Sam**

> The road is long  
>  With many a winding turns  
>  That leads us to who knows where  
>  Who knows where  
>  \-- 'He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother' by B. Scott and B. Russell

 

Dad had been out chasing a lead all evening and by eleven-thirty, Sam had definitely run out of homework to do. Even the little research tasks Dad had assigned him were done, so he flopped the library books on the floor with a satisfying thud.

Dean had been passing time with the TV, some Eighties feel good movie that Sam was paying little attention to. Sam wondered if it would be just them all night. Maybe he could sleep in Dad's bed, so they didn't have to share one bed again.

“You reckon Dad will be back before midnight?” Sam asked when the end credits started to roll.

Dean threw a pillow at his head. “Nope. Probably out drinking after he gets his intel.”

“ _If_ he gets his intel, you mean.” That remark earned him another pillow in his face.

Sam knew this recon session was a long shot. Most of Dad's leads turned out to be long shots, that much Sam had determined over the years.

He eyed the two singles ungratefully, and hated the idea of having to negotiate sleeping territory with Dean again tonight. “You reckon I can sleep in Dad's bed? It'd be nice to have some space.” Yes, space. He needed to stay as far away from Dean as he could at night, and these little twins made that totally impossible. Not to mention Dean making it totally impossible to just go to sleep peacefully.

Dean stretched and got up lazily, making a big deal out of noticing the time with his brand spanking new wristwatch. “God, no, bitch,” he said, walking over to where Sam was sitting on the floor next to the books, and ruffling his hair. “Dad'll kick you out in the middle of the night, if he finds you in his bed, you know that, squirt. You’ll be sleeping on the floor after that.”

Yes, Sam knew. But Dad wasn't forced to share a single bed with this huge six-foot-one brother, who was gorgeous beyond belief and reeked of pheromones and put out more testosterone than his entire class put together. Dean was a real life walking sex bomb, and Sam had a huge problem with that.

But yeah, Dad would toss him on the floor for crashing on his bed. It was apples and oranges, but Sam figured he may just have more of a chance of some decent sleep if he complied.

Sam groaned in resignation. “Jerk,” he said to Dean out of reflex. He had nothing better to say. Life just plain sucked.

Since it was nearing midnight, they started turning in. Sam had a big chem test in the morning, and Dean was temping at the local car mechanic's.

Sam preferred the clean money Dean was making over pool money or credit card scams. Pool money wasn't exactly amoral in his book, but he knew there were shady characters Dean had to deal with, who could pull a weapon on him at any time if they didn't like his big brother's cockiness. Also, Dean had to stay out all hours to hustle pool and Sam really wanted his brother with him in the evenings, like tonight.

Sam was glad he was finally working odd jobs after school. Now that he was 15, he could make some legal money and contribute, like he had wanted to for years.

Dad had always said his part of Team Winchester - researching lore and joining on select Hunts - was contribution enough, but Sam wanted to help out more, mean more, and take pressure off of Dean's and Dad's backs. But especially Dean's.

He shook his head when he caught himself wishing for the thousandth time that they were a normal family. Wishing had never changed things. Nothing ever changed anything. Only the type of monster Dad was hunting and which state they were hunting in this week or month. Everything else consistently remained the same in this family.

Dad didn't change, Dean didn't change. But Sam was 15, and he knew he was changing.

Meanwhile Dean had sneaked into the bathroom first, and Sam knew there was no hurrying his preening brother. Even going to bed, Dean liked to look good. Maybe Dean thought there might be girls to be conquered overnight.

Dean came out of the bathroom, wide grin on his face, as if he'd been having the best conversation with himself in there, and swaggered to the bed. “All yours, bro.” He jumped in bed settled comfortably in the middle.

Sam sighed, it would be one of those nights again.

When Sam was done with his own bed time routine, he made sure he had his pajamas on, but not the shorts with t-shirt, even though it was warm this time of year. Instead he had chosen the flannel old style jacket and pants for the winter. He didn't want to be touching Dean tonight, though in the small bed he knew he would, so he wanted to have at least something solid in between them.

He knew he couldn't get away with wearing socks without inducing hilarity and endless teasing, so he made his peace with that and kept his feet bare.

And then he got in.

“Dean, scoot,” he said, when he couldn't find a way to lie down without Dean pressing him in the side.

“Don't worry, little buddy, we're just gonna be cozy tonight, is all.”

Sam did not want to be cozy. Not tonight, not ever.

“Just get to your own side, man,” he insisted.

Then Dean did what he always does, which was get physical. “You want more space,” he taunted while going for sensitive spots to poke and tickle, “you gotta fight for it.”

Even with Dean having four inches on him, and weighing probably twenty-five pounds more than Sam, Sam thought he could take him. He'd been trained in hand-to-hand combat since he was nine years old and could take on guys twice his size easily and swiftly. Of course, Dean knew every move Sam had, because Dean had taught him everything he knew, but Sam was feeling pretty confident at this point. He wasn’t a kid anymore.

But this was not a battle of skills or even who was stronger, this was just plain stupid! Not worth mounting a proper defense strategy against.

He just pushed his brother away. “Stop it, Dean. I've got a test in the morning and I’ve gotta get proper sleep.”

Of course Dean didn't stop, instead he started to rough house and the blanket was the first casualty, flying off the bed. “You'll do better after some exercise,” Dean pestered joyfully. “Sleep is for sissies, right?”

Sam gave him the best throw-a-larger-man-off move he knew, and Dean was nearly deflected by it. Dean caught his balance halfway falling off Sam and said, “Good stuff, Sammy. I like it.”

“Whatever,” Sam said, and grabbed the blanket, turned over and pretended he was going to sleep now.

“Hey, I want you to do well on your test,” Dean murmured contritely from behind him. He sounded more serious, but Sam was done with it, with all of it. Dean followed up with a heartfelt, “Look, I know you're the smartest dork in school, no matter what grade you get. You got nothing to prove to me, kiddo.”

Sam knew his brother was trying to make peace, but he was not in the mood.

“You and Dad want me to get good grades so I can translate funky languages for you guys. Or build a bomb.”

“Well, those things do come in handy,” Dean admitted with a manly giggle. Everything Dean did was manly, even if it wasn’t.

Dean was just plain perfect. The perfect son, the perfect hunter. The perfect man, and perfectly gorgeous. Dean loved him so much it hurt Sam physically when he allowed himself to think about it. There was no one in the world that would measure up to him for Sam, ever. And there was absolutely nothing he could do to help Dean out, to lift his burdens, to give him a life that wasn’t only made up of taking care of Sammy and taking care of Dad.

Dean was 19 years old, for God’s sake, he deserved to have fun at school or start an exciting job. But no, not the Winchesters. The Winchesters were Hunters and they lived in the margins of society. There was nothing normal about their lives and it would never end.

Sam couldn’t stand it anymore. 

“I want to go to college,” Sam mumbled.

Dean was suddenly very still. Sam almost thought he'd either gone to sleep or disappeared altogether.

He actually hadn't meant to tell Dean like this. It was just that he'd known he needed to get out of this life, and for a while now his plans had been crystallizing into his college escape. He'd always planned to tell Dean when the time was right. Maybe not right now. In fact, he'd had no reason to bring it up tonight at all, so maybe he’d only said this now to hurt Dean, unconsciously blaming him for the secret frustration Sam had to endure with Dean so close. A secret far worse than going away to college.

Sam really didn’t know why he’d said it, but it was the truth.

He sneaked a look back to Dean. Sam was crushed to see the shocked look on Dean's face, that he’d always imagined would be there, when Dean found out about his plans to leave.

Sam reached to his big brother involuntarily, to comfort him, to take that fear away, but Dean flinched.

“No,” Dean said in a surprisingly low whisper. “You're not going away to college.”

Sam couldn't deny what he’d said, but he knew he would never be able to talk to Dad about it. Hell, Dad would whip him into next week.

And he had known that Dean would freak. Like, really freak.

“Yes, I am,” Sam said firmly, needing his brother to know the truth now. “I can get in, Dean. You know I'm smart enough. I can get a scholarship or something. Dad can't stop me.” Dad might disown him, yes, but he couldn't stop him. Sam manned up and declared unwaveringly, “I am going.”

With every word Sam uttered, Dean was turning even whiter.

Sam started to worry about him, as the seconds stretched into a minute. He reached out again, wanting to put a hand on Dean's arm, his shoulder, his face. Anything to make that horrified look on his brother’s beautiful face go away . 

“Dean?”

“No!” Dean jerked back, jumped out of the bed almost quicker than the eye could see. Dean ended up across the room, pressing himself against the wall.

Sam thought he understood what Dean was afraid of, so he tried to come up with whatever he could to make Dean feel better.

“Don't worry about it, Dean, I still have two more years of high school. I'm not leaving yet.”

“You're not leaving, period,” Dean said, in a throaty, trembling voice, one that a person gets who's trying not to cry. Then Dean's face contorted briefly, almost losing it in front of his little brother. “You don't really want to leave, do you?” he asked, like a desperate plea.

Sam didn’t want to break Dean’s heart any more right now. He knew that getting back at Dean this way for a childish rumble between brothers for a space in the bed they both knew was too small, was petty. It hadn't even been intentional. He'd just blurted it out.

But he could not lie. He refused to lie to Dean about this. “I don't want to leave _you_ , Dean, but I do need to leave. Dad and I, you know that's only going to get worse. And this -” Sam waved to the research hanging on the wall and spilling over Dad's bed, “this is not my life. This is his.” He shook his head, trying to find any better way to say it, but he couldn't. “Dean, you know I have the brains. I can go study. I can get a life away from all this.”

Dean let a throaty gasp escape. “Away from me,” he said, his voice rough, as if he was desperately trying to play it cool, but failing.

Sam got up and walked over to where his big brother was bracing himself against the wall. Dean didn’t look his full height, or his cocky self in this moment. He looked vulnerable, scared, his green eyes were shining with stubbornly unshed tears. Sam had rarely seen his brother that way. Sam knew it was up to him to make Dean feel safe again. Maybe that was what he could do for Dean?

“If it was just you, I’d stay forever,” Sam confessed, as he closed in on Dean and looked up at him. “You're the only reason I'm still here, you jerk.”

“Bitch,” was the automatic response. Dean visibly tried to make a smile work through his pain. Probably playing strong for his kid brother, Sam figured. He knew Dean's coping mechanisms inside and out. He'd seen them all, and then some.

Sam brushed an escaping salty streak off Dean's face. “I got to get my brainy sleep, so I can get good grades and make you proud of me.” And so he could get into college, Sam added privately.

Dean smirked through another tear, and it was an effort that Sam appreciated, though he could easily see it was fake. “I'm proud of you no matter what you do at school. You're the best, geek boy.”

“You're not so bad yourself, mutant,” Sam said.

Dean had built Sam up from the moment he was born. Yes, he tore him down just as hard at times, calling him all sorts of effeminate names, but Sam knew where his brother's heart was. It was with him. Dean had always been in his corner.

It was Dean's heart he knew he was going to be breaking, some day in the future, when he left. Not Dad's. That hurt something fierce, but it wasn't enough to keep him there, to share the Winchester fate with Dean, and sacrifice everything for Dad's futile quest for revenge.

Sam had to get them both back to bed. “Let's go get some sleep.”

Dean shook his head, then grabbed Sam by the shoulders and crushed him a bear hug, nearly lifting Sam off the floor. He reveled in the touch of his big brother, the very touch he'd been avoiding all evening. He wanted it so much, he could taste it.

“Right,” Dean said when he put Sam back down. “Let's get you that beauty sleep, Cinderella.” And he marched off to bed again, straightened everything to military standards and crawled into his own side only.

Sam grinned. That was a Winchester way of saying 'I love you'. He knew that. And Dean loved him, he knew that too. He never needed him to say it, because really, Dean had told him twice in the last hour already. He always knew he was loved.

Sam walked back to the bed, snuggled into his own spot, with his back to Dean, and felt safer than when he got in the first time. He wasn't likely to get pounced, after what had just happened.

Dean was subdued, silent even. Then after a few minutes, Dean rolled towards him on his side, and gently reached an arm around Sam's chest, pushing himself against Sam. When Dean was crushing Sam to him, Sam noticed Dean's breathing was erratic. Then he felt his brother bury his face in the crook of his shoulder. Dean must be covered by Sam's hair now, Sam realized, and he stopped moving. It looked like Dean was going to stay like that, and eventually his breathing started to even out.

Sam was being hugged in bed, by his older brother, whose heart he had just broken. He was feeling every inch of his brother's body pressing against every inch of his back.

Yes, he knew he was loved. And he had a hard-on.

That and his college plans were his greatest secrets.

Dad could never know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Dear Reader,  
>  Please let me know if this warrants an Underage warning. I put a tag in about sexual thoughts by a minor, but since they don't do anything, I assume a warning would put it in an incorrect catagory. Thanks for any thoughts._


	2. 2001: Dean

**2001: Dean**

> But I'm strong  
>  Strong enough to carry him  
>  He ain't heavy, he's my brother  
>  \---- He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother by B. Scott and B. Russell

Dean parked the Impala, which Dad had given to him for his twenty-first birthday, directly in front of their motel room door. He had been sent home by Dad, when the trail to the pack of werewolves had turned cold. Dad, as usual, was going to continue on some possible leads a few more hours, but he had tasked Dean with checking on Sam and getting a few hours' sleep.

Dean wouldn't admit it, but he was happy to spend some time with Sammy alone. What with Sam's honor's work at school, finishing up with his exams, and Dad demanding more from him by the day to track down monsters and grill them for information about the thing that killed Mom, Dean was missing his bro-time with Sammy a lot. Sam had spent an inordinate amount of time at the library, both at school and in the municipal one. Dean only hoped he had a honey on the side, because this much studying couldn't be good for a red blooded eighteen-year-old American boy.

So when Dean swung open the door to their motel room, he declared, “Let's pretend you're twenty-one and go out drinking, Sammy!”

Dean figured Sam must be in a celebratory mood anyway, because he'd be finishing High School soon, and he'd be a free agent, like Dean. Surely Sam would happy to finally be unencumbered by formal studies and daily routines set by teachers. Schools and other authorities were just inconveniences that Dean couldn't be bothered to give the time of day to.

Dean was expecting a high five and a 'Hell, yes', but he saw Sam walk out of the bathroom with his kit all packed up, decidedly not looking like he was up for a guys’ night out.

Dean surveyed the place in an instant and saw Sam had his backpack all packed and his duffel was zipped up and ready to go. Even his bed had been made, to make space for a thorough packing session, which was clearly as good as finished. Dean knew the drill, could identify all the signs.

He got a horrible feeling he had made it here just in time.

“Sam?” he asked, spreading his arms in a big question mark, when Sam didn't move or speak.

His kid brother just stood there, looking embarrassed, even guilty, like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Dean didn't want to believe it. “Sam, no.”

“Dean,” Sam shook his head with a tired sigh. “You knew this was coming.”

This couldn't be happening. Sam couldn't mean it, Dean knew, thought, believed. Sam couldn't tear Dean apart like this, with no warning. Not that any warning in the world would've been enough to prepare him for this.

No! It was not going to happen!

Dean wanted to be outraged for the right reasons, so he dragged Dad into it. “You're doing this behind Dad's back? You're just gonna sneak off into the night?”

Sam set his jaw and walked over to his backpack, stuffed his kit into it and zipped it up angrily. “You kidding me, man?” Sam took the defiant stance he had perfected over the years when going toe to toe with Dad, which was pretty much on a daily basis now.

“Dad can't stop me, whether he's here or not, Dean. You know that one of these days we'll kill each other. I can't live like that, butting heads all the time with him. He's not the boss of me. I need my own life. Maybe you can live his pathetic revenge deal forever, but I can't. I'm done, Dean,” he added threateningly.

Dean should be feeling rage, and he should be pummeling Sam for pulling such a backhanded stunt. But it wasn't what he was feeling. He realized fear was overtaking all his violent go-tos, and it actually threatened to swallow him.

This wasn't about Dad by a long shot.

Now wasn’t the time to play games with his not-so-little little brother. Sam had grown nearly as tall as Dean and in hand-to-hand combat, it was a tie between them most of the time now. Their skill set was nearly identical. Dean had a few years on Sam and possibly a few pounds, that was all.

Physically tackling Sam wouldn't do any good anyway. He'd just disappear later. They were both trained in escape techniques. No, there was no way he could keep Sam where he didn't want to be.

And Sam didn't want to be with him anymore.

Dean swallowed hard. “Sam,” he whispered, seeing no way out of facing gut wrenching facts. “You're really going.”

Sam looked up, pain as well as determination clear in his frown. “Yes. I'm really going.”

Dean felt like the Earth's gravity had become twice as strong. He wanted what Sam was saying to be untrue, he wanted it all to disappear, to go away and let Sam be eighteen for the rest of his life, or eleven, or eight. Just so long as he would stay with Dean, forever.

But Dean knew this was it. Sam was going.

“Where? I mean, what college?”

“California,” Sam said, in his normal casual voice now. Not the one that said ‘I’m never coming back, Dean.’ Just a normal conversation between two brothers, standing at the juncture most siblings and parents pray for, hope for and rejoice over. Dean didn't think he could take the normalcy of Sam's decisions and actions, but he just stood there, listening to his brother talk. “Stanford accepted me.”

Dean gulped to regain some control, knowing the more he found out, the more real it would all be. And he wanted none of this to be real. He was begging for Sam to stop talking about such horrendous things, but he needed to keep Sam’s attention to keep him here, to keep him close. It was a doomed strategy, but Dean was out of options.

“Tuition?” he squeezed the question out between gritted teeth.

“Full ride,” Sam said, running a hand through his short brown hair, as if it had taken a lot of effort to arrange the financials. Dean was sure it would've been hard. “Or as good as.”

“How?” Dean hadn't seen any application packets come through for financial aid or any paperwork from universities.

“Uncle Bobby, mostly, and Pastor Jim. I prepared everything in the library and in Home Room. Then posted applications from wherever we were and sent copies to Bobby. Uncle Bobby's was the return address, and all it took was a few phone calls. Only the actual college interview took a little inventiveness not to show up on you and Dad’s radar, but I worked it out. Pastor Jim may have lied a little about our family situation, but it kept Dad out of it. They never contacted him, so Dad didn’t notice.”

Dean could see the whole plan unfolding. This had been in the works for a long time with accomplices and everything. Sam had managed to keep it totally secret from him and Dad. Dean was impressed with the set-up and Sam's determination, and he understood why Sam hadn't told him. Sam hadn’t wanted him to have to lie to Dad.

Dean still felt he was dying inside. He'd rather lie to Dad for the rest of his life, than have Sam leave. But he knew it wasn't a bargain he could strike. He’d been bypassed, sidestepped, detoured and circumvented, expertly even, and Sam had done it all on purpose. Clearly, Sam had been working on this for at least a year, if not longer.

A memory of Sam’s announcement to go to college from a long time ago surfaced. Dean remembered the shock, the fear, the loneliness he’d felt, just thinking of his boy not being around. A life without Sam was unthinkable.

He wanted to grab Sam and crush him in his arms, but he looked at the young man he’d raised, tall and strong, who was no longer the child Sam had been. Sam was determined, proud, and so headstrong, Dean knew he’d lost him. The grief of that was too large to even register. Panic and fear were his overruling emotions, and he couldn’t see past them.

Sam continued matter of factly, like Dean’s world wasn’t about to come to an end, “I still have some funds to arrange, and I've got a job lined up for the summer, to save up for when classes start.” Sam sighed, a stubborn, happy one. “I'll probably have to keep working throughout the year, but maybe the University will have something. You always found me useful in a library, right?”

Sam was trying to make an amicable joke, but Dean couldn't go there with him. Not now, not while he was staring into the abyss. But he was proud of his brother, so he said, “I'd sure hire you, Sammy. They'd be asshats if they don't recognize what prize they got, having you around.”

That was more than he would've said on any normal day, but this wasn't a normal day by far. The light of his life, his reason for being, his only truth in this world was about to walk out of that door and never come back. They'd never be a family again, not like they used to be.

Dean's world was teetering on the edge of shattering into bloody pieces.

“Will I ever see you again?” he asked finally past a huge lump, not knowing how else to put it. With all the moving around they did, they rarely made it to California. Hell, he and Sammy had never even been to the beach.

Sam moved closer to him, to where Dean had been rooted to the spot from the moment he’d walked in the door. “I'm not leaving _you_ , Dean. Please understand that.”

“That's not what it feels like,” Dean spit out, right in his brother's face. He pushed down his anger, but figured he had nothing to lose at this point, so he let some of his pain out, just a little. “Sam, what about me?”

Sam put a hand on his arm.

Dean kept himself from shaking at the contact, feeling a sudden yearning for any physical contact with his brother well up inside. He repressed the urge to grab hold of Sam, because he knew he'd never let go of him again.

“What about you, Dean?” Sam said finally, earnestly, as if Dean had any choice in the matter. “What do you want?”

Dean closed his eyes, not wanting to see the sincere question in Sam's kaleidoscope eyes. Sammy believed Dean could make decisions about his life, like Dad hadn't given him his purpose at nearly five years old, when Dad had put Sam in his arms, told him to run and don’t look back. He never had, he never could, and he was still running. Dean didn't know the world of choice. All he knew was duty to Dad and Sam. Most days the rest of the world barely registered for Dean, and now one of his pillars of reality was just walking away.

“I want you to stay with us, Sammy.” Dean heard his own voice break but didn't let it stop him from pleading with Sam. His normal inhibitions and reserve had disappeared when Sam had shattered his future, _their_ future. “I want us to be a family.”

Sam started to massage Dean's biceps, and his free hand now found Dean's other arm. Dean felt like he was being slowly choked by his brother's love.

“Us?” Sam asked. “Not you? I want to be with you, Dean, but not Dad. “

Dean understood that better than Sam probably knew. He’d been refusing to acknowledge the unmanageable rift between Sam and Dad, but he had seen it, lived it, and now the reality of their mismatch was here. They were both impossibly headstrong. Dean felt caught in the middle as peacemaker half the time and he knew Sam and Dad were not going to be able to work together much longer.

He also knew what Sam was asking, and he needed Sam to know the truth, the naked reality inside him, that given a choice, he would choose Sam over Dad. So he admitted, “Me.” Dean opened his eyes and looked at Sam, strong and clear. “I want you to stay with me,” he repeated. It was his only real truth.

Sam nodded, like he was relieved to hear that answer. “Okay. Then come with me,” Sam offered. “Quit this life. Quit Dad. It's a dead end street he’s on. You know it, man.”

Dean shook his head. It wasn't even utterable how much that was not in the realm of possibility. Leaving Dad and his hunt for justice would go against everything he knew. Dean was instrumental in Dad’s army, even if they were going to be only an army of two after tonight.

Sam sighed, resignation this time, and clearly not surprised. Just very disappointed. “Then, there's only one thing that could make me consider staying,” Sam said slowly.

“What?” Dean asked, eager for a solution to this, to have his Sammy back. “Tell me. I'll do anything,” he said, more willing and true than anything he’d ever said in his life.

Sam pulled Dean closer. And closer.

Dean was seeing the segments of the colors in Sam's eyes. He could count eye lashes, and a stray one on his cheek. Sam was so close now, like he was about to kiss Dean. No, surely he couldn't be trying to kiss Dean, could he?

Then Sam tilted his head and pressed his lips against Dean's. Dean froze, knowing this was so out of bounds that he couldn't even think, couldn’t react. He didn't want to react, but he didn't want to back off either. He just stayed frozen in place while Sam had the grace not to press his tongue through.

When the kiss ended, Dean realized he was now forever, irrevocably changed. He had felt something in those lips, that was far more intense than he’d ever felt holding his brother, cradling him when he was tired or sleeping, but more akin to roughhousing with Sam. That was always exhilarating, freeing, and he always wanted more, taking such joy in physical play with his brother. But Sam’s lips, he had never consciously touched those before, much less with his own. The intensity of that feeling of harmony, belonging and needing more scared him. He should be confused about it, angry, and condemning it instinctively, but he wasn’t and he didn’t.

Even though it was completely outside of everything he’d ever known and learned, the kiss had felt like coming home. Sam’s lips had been where Dean needed to be.

But that was totally never going to happen. He would not be responsible for throwing his brother into a life of – what? He didn’t even know a word bad enough to describe this.

Sam pulled back a little and smiled. “I thought so,” he said, like he'd had this conversation a million times. “You won't really do everything needed to keep me, Dean. You won't do this.”

Dean's head hadn't stopped spinning yet. “What the hell's going on, Sammy?” he almost shouted when he had his voice back. Then checked it, but continued in defensive mode, “You wanna like, make out with me, is that it? What, not enough girls at the library or something?”

Dean knew he couldn't intimidate Sam anymore, but this was the only way he'd been taught to react. He had no other defenses, especially since he was actually grateful for that kiss, even though he hadn’t participated in it. It was something he knew he would cherish and secretly build on. This was so far off the reservation that he didn't know how to feel or what to do.

Sam laughed in his face, and didn't back off or let go. “You have no idea, do you, Dean? None at all.”

Dean wanted to know, but couldn't take the sting out of his voice. “You tell me, buddy. You seem to have all the answers.”

Sam let go with a jerk, visibly putting his own flaring anger in check. “You want to know what's been going on? I'll tell you, man.”

Dean could see from Sam's body language he was gearing up for full blaze onslaught. Dean was sure whatever came next was either meant to hurt him or the unvarnished truth. And in both cases, Sam was going to try to alienate Dean as much as possible, so Dean might let him walk out the door.

Would he? Could he?

It didn’t matter. At this point, the whole night spiraling out of control, Dean figured there was no way he’d walk away from this with the same lust for life as he’d walked in the door with. That may be so, but he should do the right thing, like he always did. Sammy’s wellbeing came first.

“Get this, brother.” Sam put a nasty emphasis on 'brother'. “When I was fifteen, I knew I wanted you to touch me. I couldn't ask, because I knew you'd freak. And you'd tell me that I was too young or something, you who was always juggling several girls at once in high school.”

Sam took a small pause to let it sink in, but Dean wasn't going to let it sink in. Ever. No, this wasn't happening. This was even more not happening than Sam leaving. Neither thing was happening.

Sam was unstoppable. “Then, at sixteen, I knew I wanted you to fuck me,” Sam spat out the word 'fuck' like it was both a blessing and a curse. “And at seventeen, I knew I wanted to fuck you. And all that time I said nothing, because I knew you wouldn't let me.”

Dean was now rock solid in his frozen state. He had no idea what to say or think or do. The words 'statutory rape' came up in his mind, which made him weak-in-the-knees glad that Sam hadn't brought up such unspeakable things before he'd come of age. But he didn't know how to be part of this conversation, this fight, so he kept still, probably coming across as unfeeling and uncaring to this young man who was more precious to him than his own life.

As the moments stretched on, he could see Sam getting pissed off by his silence.

Suddenly Sam grabbed him again, and kissed him harshly this time, not caring about bruising lips. Sam pushed his tongue through Dean's lips. Dean kept his jaws clenched, so Sam couldn't get much into his mouth, but Sam made it far enough that Dean could taste and smell Sam. Sam smelled like he always did – gloriously musty, fresh and sweet, and of the only person Dean really loved. Dean had to resist his yearning to lean into the kiss and open his mouth, invite his brother in. The only reason he didn't, was his job. Protecting Sammy.

This should not be happening! His conscience was screaming at him. His heart and urges were screaming at him as well. As a result, Dean didn't object, but he didn't participate, exactly as before.

Dean felt he must seem like a stone cold jerk to his little brother who was asking, begging, screaming for affection.

Sam broke the intrusive and angry kiss and pushed Dean roughly away, sending Dean to catch himself by dropping his center of gravity briefly. Sam stalked back to his bed where his bags were waiting and kept his back to Dean when he spoke again.

“I'm not kidding. Those are my terms for me to give up college and stay with you, Dean. But I knew you wouldn't want me in the same way I want you, and I can't live this life anymore. I can't be stuck wanting you day and night with you right there, and watching you hand your entire life over to Dad and his senseless eighteen-year-old obsession.”

Dean wanted to protest, but he knew all of it was true, even though he hadn't known of Sam's desire for him, Sam was right about everything that he would've done if he'd known.

Dean knew he could never let Sam give into such a misplaced form of affection, no matter how tantalizing it was for Dean, too. He could never be talked into participating in whatever Sam had in mind after the kiss, just to appease some twisted feelings Sam had developed for him. Hell, it was probably all caused by this unnatural life they'd lived - guys on the road, the both of them growing up with harsh realities years before they should’ve. Taking on responsibilities they shouldn't have needed to, in a normal life. They had missed any kind of nurturing female influence in their lives, which was probably why Sam had out and out misdirected his sexual impulses onto Dean.

Dean had to protect his brother. That was his job. He now had to protect Sam from himself and Dad, and the life they’d all led, the only life he'd ever known. He had to give up the only love he'd ever had, and set Sam free.

He heard himself speak, like in an echo chamber. “Maybe it's better that you're leaving then.”

He couldn't believe he was saying this. He didn't want this!

Sam slumped briefly with is back still to Dean. Then he grabbed his backpack, strapping it on meticulously, properly, like a person would before setting off on a long trek. Sam grabbed his duffel and swung it over his shoulder.

“I hope you'll continue to feel that way,” Sam said, finally turning back to Dean, all strong, bold and manly now. He was eighteen and no one could stop him.

Dean knew the feeling. He knew he couldn't stop Sam from doing anything he set his mind to. He had raised him that way.

“I didn't want to hurt you, but I knew I would.” Sam walked over and cradled Dean's face in his free hand. “Thank you for everything.”

Dean leaned into the gentle touch, finally able to respond to his brother's tender touch and reveling in the extra something that was between them, that he’d never felt in anyone else’s presence, ever. He yearned for it, could feel his own unexpected impulses blaring at him, but today had been too much, too sudden, too outright wild, even for them.

He loved Sam so much, he had no words for any of it, and he couldn't think of a damn thing to say. He couldn't give Sam what he wanted from him, but he could give Sam what he wanted from life. His freedom.

Dean looked at his little brother, suddenly feeling his strength flooding back to him, garnered from his pride in Sam, who was in Dean’s eyes the most awesome human being to walk the Earth, even more awesome than Dad.

Dean briefly kissed the hand that had cradled his cheek and nodded. “Go, Sam,” he said, swallowing any pain, fear or grief he knew would come to overwhelm him later. “Get out of here. I'll keep Dad out of your business.” Dean could still do his job as Sam’s protector, no one could take that away from him. “I'll square everything with him and Bobby.”

Sam beamed and looked like he was about to kiss Dean again, but he just stared soulfully, then murmured, “I love you, Dean.”

Dean pushed the affectionate hand away, his feet firmly placed on the ground with razor sharp balance, totally focused on his task ahead. “You little dork. Go get a real life for yourself. Make Mom proud.”

Sam bent closer and did kiss him, but this time it was a goodbye kiss, one between brothers who had grown up in the same room, and half the time had shared the same bed. That room and his bed would be so empty from now on. It was a kiss to remember forever with joy in Dean's heart.

Then Sam pulled away and grinned at Dean. “Come look me up, Dean,” he said, all anger and intensity completely faded away from him. “You're welcome any time.”

Then in what felt like a split second, Sam disappeared out the door and into the night, running towards a new life, and out of Dean's.

Dean knew he wouldn’t go to look Sam up. He would be too busy finding ways to fill this gaping hole in his life, and he would be working on the mission Dad had given him. He’d continue now as half a man, a warrior with a broken heart.

Sammy had been his greatest delight and his only real achievement in life. In truth, he was happy Sam was claiming his freedom, but his own life couldn’t be complete without his little brother.

Love had just walked out the door.

And Dad was going to kill him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Dear reader,_   
>  _I realize that Sam actually had a fight with John when he left, and completely blanked on that while writing this story. But I loved how the scene went, and it's just them together, so I kept it. This story is about the desperate love between the brothers, not about John or anyone else. Hope you'll forgive this freeform bit._
> 
>  
> 
> _Also - like Chapter 1, Sam mentions his sexual feelings when he was 15, 16 and 17. Please let me know if this warrants an Underage warning. Thanks for any thoughts._


	3. 2003: Sam

**2003: Sam**

> If I'm laden at all  
>  I'm laden with sadness  
>  That everyone's heart  
>  Isn't filled with the gladness  
>  Of love for one another  
>  \---- He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother by B. Scott and B. Russell

Sam had spotted the Impala three times today around the Stanford campus. He knew what it meant, and could only guess at the cause for it.

Was Dad dead? Was Dean dead?

Would Dad come to see him in the Impala he had given Dean? Only if Dean was dead. So maybe.

But if it was Dad bringing him news about Dean, then Sam had nothing to say to him, especially if Dad would loiter around the area before telling him. Without Dean, there was no family to return to, as far as Sam was concerned, and the very thought of Dean being dead would overrule just about anything that Dad could possible say or do or demand of him. In fact, Sam needed to believe Dean was still alive for now, so he could even think straight.

If it wasn't Dad, then why would Dean come to see him in person this time? Could he not just send one of his ridiculous texts saying something inane and excessively masculine, like, 'You fucking all the coeds yet?' Or the worse ones with some unintelligibly garbled message that Sam assumed Dean had drunk-texted him.  

The first message Dean had sent after Sam had left had read, 'I'm proud of you Sammy.' That was the one he'd kept. He never looked at it, and even the thought of that text existing made him catch himself. He couldn't linger on those feelings anymore, not in this new life he was building. His own life, far, far away from Dean and Dad.

They hadn't had any other contact since Sam had left, and the subsequent texts had gotten rougher, unhappier, and sometimes downright mean. Those didn't give him any feelings he couldn't handle. He was a pro at dealing with his own anger. Aggression was what he'd been taught, what he felt brewing inside himself every minute. Aggression was his friend, like his pet dog on a very tight leash. He had it under control and he didn’t fear it.

And Sam actually welcomed Dean's hostility. It made what he had chosen to do so much easier.

Sam had stopped answering Dean's messages and he certainly didn't keep them. And the silence from Dad, that was total bliss. Nothing to look back to, to wish for, to regret. Nothing to concentrate on except the here and now, his studies, his future and a plausible love life.

With the life he’d built up here at Stanford, he had no time in his day left over to spend on his past, his family, and their 'business'. He was all booked up, preparing for his third year in school, boning down on pre-law classes, and there was Jess. Jess, who might just save him from himself without ever knowing it. Jess who was pure, where he was tainted, and she was the woman he had missed his entire life, when all he'd ever known was the world of men.

Recently, things were getting more serious between them. Jess had asked him to move into her house near campus, as her roommate had conveniently just left. Sam felt fulfilled. This was the life he'd always wanted. Jess was totally amazing, and he discovered more and more about her every day. She smelled so fine, she was gorgeous, and she was always in Sam's corner, supporting him. Just like Dean had always been there for him. But Jess wanted him, all of him, unlike Dean.

When she had asked him to move in, he couldn't help but see their wedding in his mind's eye, with their house in the city, two peaceful nine-to-fives and definitely a dog or two in the future. He would work hard, study for his PhD in the evenings and on weekends. He would do it to be worthy of her, to provide for her and the dogs. Yes, he was definitely hoping for a ‘dog,’ or two.

The fourth time he saw the Impala was that evening, on the street to Jess's house. Just like the other times, Baby seemed empty, but Sam knew better. He had a Spidey sense where it came to Dean.

No, it definitely wasn't Dad stalking him. Dad would never have been so circumspect. He would've come right out and said what was on his mind. If it had been bad, like Dean was in the hospital or had been turned into a werewolf, Dad wouldn't sugarcoat it. And he would demand Sam take action to get his brother back, and probably put Dean down, if they couldn't save him. There was no cure for a turned werewolf.

Sam was determined he would never return to that life, no matter what anyone said. But he could feel in his gut that if Dean had been harmed, the tightly held control over his inner fury wouldn't keep him from wreaking bloody revenge on the world.

Jess would definitely never marry him if she ever found that out about him, or if she found out how Sam had really felt about his brother all these years. It was a distant memory, two years now since he had laid eyes on his big brother, but his need for Dean was always boiling under the surface. That's why he relished taking extra classes and extra homework. It kept him from looking back.

Forward was the way, and Jess was the answer to all his prayers.

In the dim light of the lamppost some ways off, he circled the Impala from behind. He assumed that either Dean was hiding or he was sleeping, probably in the back seat, which was always the most comfortable, especially for Sam's now longer legs.

He was amazed to think the last time he'd shared his brother's car, he hadn't even been full grown.

Through the back windshield Sam could see Dean's dirty blond hair and pale face catching the light, followed by the dark outline of his leather jacket, all huddled up cozily on the back seat as expected. Dean looked asleep.

Sam assumed Dad wasn't dead or turned into a monster, seeing Dean was sleeping peacefully, so that brought it all down to one last question: what the hell was Dean doing here?

Sam walked to the passenger side and pulled out a hook to jimmy the archaic lock on the familiar door, feeling like he was breaking into his parents’ house. It was an odd thought, since he'd never had a home with parents, like normal kids. He swiftly got in and slammed the door, knowing that any one of those movements would jerk Dean awake. And it did.

“Not terribly stealthy, man,” Sam said as a hello. “Saw you since this afternoon. How did you know where I live?”

Dean stretched in as far as the car would allow it, and scooted up a bit, blinking sleep out of his eyes, taking his merry time with it, not looking particularly bothered. “Wasn't trying to avoid you, kiddo. I was just waiting to get you alone.”

Sam nodded. Made sense. “It's not an answer to my question though.”

Dean smirked in his patented 'are you kidding' style. “If a Hunter can't find any random person's address, he'd better hang up his spurs.”

Sam tried to imagine the Hunter's life that Dean had been living since Sam had left. Dad would've probably stepped the pace up quite a bit, finally being unburdened by minors in his posse, for the first time in eighteen years. Yes, Dean probably had been going full on, no holds barred Hunter-mode from the night Sam had left. Dad must've been insufferable.

“Was he pissed?” Sam asked, feeling sorry for leaving Dean holding the bag.

Dean glanced at him briefly, then shrugged. “I could handle it.”

That was about as much as admitting it had been pretty horrific, maybe violent.

Sam lowered his voice, even though he knew no one was around to hear them and Baby's windows were shut. “Did he hurt you, Dean?”

“I said I could handle it,” Dean flared up, all his trademark nervous energy bubbling to the surface in a split second. “It's done. Don't worry about it.”

Sam reached over the bench seat with his long arm and touched Dean's elbow. “I'm sorry I put you through that.”

Dean pulled away, machismo written over his face. Then he seemed to change his mind and brought his hand over the bench as well, letting it touch Sam's upper arm. Dean's eyes searched timidly for Sam's okay on the touch.

It was almost like Dean felt he was stealing something, but to Sam it was a gift, and only a fraction of what he craved. It was more than he'd had from his family for two years, so he savored it. He'd take anything Dean was willing to offer.

Dean seemed to relax when Sam didn't move away. “I was, like, in the neighborhood.” That was probably supposed to be an explanation.

Sam laughed. “Yeah, like California is ever on the way to anything but California.”

Dean grinned. “Dad's working up in Oregon. I just finished a job down in Arizona. I'm expected to meet up in a day or two.” He had a mischievous look about his eyes and lips. “So I had opportunity.”

Sam noticed that Dean hadn't let go of his arm yet. “Okay, and what about motive?”

“To see my kid brother, of course,” Dean proclaimed, like it was the most normal thing in the world. Nothing in their family had ever been normal, so no, that wasn't an answer Sam would accept.

“You could've come to see me any time in the past two years, Dean,” Sam couldn't help but make it sound like an accusation. “You didn't.”

Dean turned serious again. “Dad doesn't now I'm here.”

“Yeah, I got that, Boss Hogg,” Sam said, trying to keep a light tone, but desperate for information. “How bad is it?”

“Seriously?” Dean asked, his whole bravado now replaced by somber uneasiness.

Sam nodded to emphasize, “Just give it to me straight, man. I need to know.”

Dean's Adam's apple bobbed up and down before he stage-whispered, “Dad said, you leave, you don’t ever come back.” Dean's face looked struck and his eyes were shinier than normal. Dean obviously had fought the big fight on Sam's behalf and in a way, Dean had lost.

Sam could never come home again.

Sam let that sink in. “Okay.” He let it fall in the place in his heart where he'd expected to put the answer to that question, and this was fulfilling the worst case scenario. He had been prepared for it, but it still hurt like hell, especially looking into Deans haunted eyes. He manned up, and repeated more definitively, “Okay.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, and a whole conversation happened between them in that moment that could never be spoken in words.

Dean was the first to break the companionable silence. “Listen, Sammy. I don't make it to these parts very often. No telling when I'll be back.” Dean left it there, again, counting on things unsaid being heard by his brother.

Sam had nothing new to say to that, though. “I'll be here. I have two years of pre-law to do, so I'm not going anywhere. You're always welcome.”

Dean seemed pleased with that, though the worry lines didn't smooth out on his 24-year-old, stunningly beautiful baby-face. “My brat brother, being all big man on campus, huh?”

Sam smiled. “I do alright.”

“You need money?” Dean was still fairly serious, especially considering it was Dean.

Sam shook his head. “I'm okay, man. I can manage.” There was no way he could take money from Dean ever again, even if he were starving. He couldn't be any part of that life and he wouldn't let his brother worry about it.

“Yeah, I'll bet you've gone totally soft,” Dean added, like it was reflex to tease his brother. “Girlfriend, too, I hear,” Dean said offhandedly, like that was what he'd wanted to know all along.

“Looks like,” Sam agreed.

Discussing Jess was the last thing he wanted to do with his brother. His sex life was totally off limits as a topic as far as Dean was concerned. He could still taste Dean on his tongue and lips, and he knew Dean's scent almost like a bloodhound sniffing out his prey. In close quarters like this, he felt himself react to Dean’s presence, no matter what the conversation was like. Dean's proximity would always be an aphrodisiac to Sam. He knew there was no easing that, ever.

Dean smiled, though, clearly in relief to the confirmation of a girlfriend in his life. Sam noticed the tension draining out of Dean as he relaxed.

“I'm glad that's all taken care of then,” Dean said with a shaky smile. “Like, the messy stuff at the end, there. You had me worried, Sammy, I'll tell ya.”

Sam felt his blood start to boil, rage building up in him, almost like Dean had unexpectedly morphed into Dad and punched him in the face.

“Messy stuff?” Sam pulled his arm away from Dean’s touch, and banged the dash with his other hand, completely disregarding the vintage car’s value to Dean. In fact, he'd be ecstatic if he left a dent that Dean would have to fix. “What, you didn't believe me, is that it? You, like, think I was all confused and stuff? 'Little Sammy.' Huh?” He had a tenuous hold on his anger, and wasn't sure he actually wanted to keep it in check.

Dean put his arms in a defensive mode in front of him, not that it would do any good in the confines of the interior of the car. “Sammy, chill, it's not a big deal.”

Dean was trying to wave Sam's greatest love away in a jovial, manly way, and Sam wasn't going to let him do it. This was his heart that Dean was trampling under his boots, stomping to pieces, and Sam was determined to let him know the truth.

“Get this, Dean, it may come as a surprise to you, but I still want to fuck you.” Sam's vision became red hot with rage which he tried to contain, but only because it was Dean. “I will _always_ want to fuck you. I dream of you fucking me, of living and working together until we both die of unlikely old age. Together.”

Now that he'd got this out, he felt freed up to say what he would've wanted to say to Dean many years ago, so he pushed on fearlessly. “I dream of getting you out of Dad's business and into mine. I want a life for you, Dean, with _me_ , but I know you're never, ever going to leave Dad. He trained you too well, like a hound drilled for the hunt. Dad and his legacy will probably have to goddamn die before you’ll give me the time of day again.”

Sam was seriously enjoying every word he said, and wanted to make sure Dean didn't get comfortable with any of this. He didn't pull the final punch, but slammed it right into his pure and righteous brother's face. “So I'm moving on, and I've got my girl, and if that makes me all 'normal' in your eyes, well you're fucking wrong. Like so totally off the mark you wouldn’t believe it. I've been in love with you, in lust with you, since I can remember, and I'm never, ever getting over you. No amount of your bro-speak or staying away will ever fix that.” Not even Jess, he thought to himself, but that was not for his brother to hear.

Dean was now frozen where he sat and Sam could see every word he had spat at Dean deeply slicing through him. But Sam could not, would not stop.

“I love you, Dean,” Sam accused, and he wanted to make damn sure Dean would not take that as some tender, familial expression. “I love you in a harsh, needy, pound into the carpet or up a wall kind of way.”

“No,” Dean unfroze and scrambled to get up. Sam grabbed his wrist, before Dean could get open the door he had been leaning against, and Sam was strong enough to keep Dean from moving for a moment or two.

“Yes!” Sam went on, feeding his rage and unleashing all the bottled up truths that had defined his life since he’d become aware of his need for Dean. It was so satisfying to finally speak it all out loud, even if he knew he was hurting Dean. Sam knew his brother could take it. Dean had been through a lot worse by Dad, by life.

Dean was the only home Sam had ever had, and because Sam loved him too much, he had fled and left everything he'd ever known to have a chance at a new life, a different one. He fucking well would push Dean away, if that was the only way he could be free of their chains to Dad’s obsession. So Sam had no qualms, apart from the hurt look on his brother’s face. But it wasn’t enough to take pity on Dean. For Sam, this was about survival.

“I want to us to screw each other until we have nothing more left in us, and then fall into a heap until we are can do it all over again. There's nothing in this world that can make that go away. Not you, not Dad, not even Jess.” He realized he’d slipped up at the end there. It hadn’t been his intention to drag Jess into this, but he wouldn’t take a word of it back, not one word.

“No, Sam!” Dean yelled, yanked his arm loose and got out of the car before Sam could get another hold on him.

Sam kicked his passenger door open and caught up with Dean stalking down the road away from the car, away from Sam. Sam ran and grabbed him by the shoulder, swung him around and pushed him against the first upright surface he could find, which happened to be the side of a cafe. The colorful lights from inside the establishment cast an eerie backdrop to Dean's contorting face.

He was crying, trying to wriggle out of Sam's grasp, but not in a coordinated way. Sam knew Dean could easily do better and would've been out of his clutches if Sam had been a monster to kill. Dean didn't mean it, he was just struggling randomly against Sam, against Sam’s words.

Maybe Dean was really hurting inside, maybe Dean didn't think Sam was a monster because of his feelings for his brother. Maybe there was a glimmer of hope. All this flashed through Sam's mind when he found himself rammed up to Dean and towering over him by what felt like four inches.

This was the first time he'd ever been taller than his big brother, and it felt strange, powerful. Dean, who was so miserable in his arms, felt breakable. He'd never seen Dean like this, his protector and the steadfast brother who'd raised him, fed him, held him when he had cried at night. He'd never know Dean as fragile before.

Sam felt he could easily shatter him right now. He was sure of it. Feeling that power run through him, and the impetus to actually follow through and snap Dean, changed how he'd always felt in relation to Dean before.

And what about Dad?

He realized he must be about three inches taller than Dad now, too. Imagine towering over Dad like he did over Dean. Sam's mind was reeling with the changes and he'd almost forgotten that he was still holding Dean up against the cafe wall.

Sam didn't want to hurt Dean, but he knew he would if he was forced for one more moment to be what he wasn't in the eyes of the single most important person in his life.

Dean could've escaped by now, they both knew this, but instead, Dean had started to cling to Sam, letting tears run free over his face. “Sam, please,” he whispered finally, clearly not begging to be let go. Sam could feel how tightly Dean was holding on to him. Dean looked him straight in the eyes, the green windows of Dean's soul hitting Sam like only the man he loved could. “Don't ask me to, Sammy,” Dean pleaded.

Sam pressed up against Dean, wishing he was hearing different words. He felt their hips touch and he pushed his leg in between his brother's in defiance of what Dean was pleading for.

“I do need to ask you, Dean, don't you understand?” Sam growled in Dean's ear, while he could see his brother shake his head in denial. “You have to get it. This happens between us, or we have nothing. I can't go back.”

Sam's knee pushed his brother’s strong thighs apart and Dean yielded. Sam hiked his brother up with his knee and knew he was breaking far more than rules of social conduct with this. He was breaking their relationship, as surely as the thing that had killed their mother had broken their childhoods.

Violence it is, then, Sam decided.   

If Dean didn't want him, he would steal what he could while he had him this close. This would be the last time they'd see each other for a long time. Probably until Dad died. Maybe forever.

“It's not about Dad anymore,” Sam insisted on talking, as he reached around his brother, shoved Dean harder against the wall, and pinned one of Dean’s arms behind his back.

And Dean let it all happen.

“It's not about Jess or Stanford, or even Dad,” he continued, while he used his other hand to open Dean's belt. “It's about you and me. It's always been about you and me.” He opened the button and unzipped completely, feeling Dean's cock fall against his hand.

This wasn't the hot and heavy sex he'd always dreamed of. Dean's tear streaked face wasn't what he'd hoped to see when he’d imagined touching Dean like this for the first time.

Dean's struggles had stopped halfway through and his face was now growing hard and stony. Sam recognized signs of his brother collecting himself and knew it was any moment now that things could turn seriously bloody. One way or another, their minutes together were numbered, and Sam felt his heart pounding in his chest with fright. He knew he could never have Dean, but he still couldn't bear to lose him again.

“Do it,” Dean's harsh command was like a slap in his face. He almost welcomed the counter from Dean, so they could fight on equal footing, but not about this. He hated fighting about this.

“No?” Dean had his all-out fight-the-monster face on now.

Sam knew he'd lost. Dean would never give him what he asked for, and he had asked so fucking badly, he knew there was nothing left to salvage here. He just wanted to get away, get back to his safe Stanford life of mundane normalcy and pretend he could be good for Jess.

“What, you don't want me now?” Dean continued when Sam pulled back his leg and his hand, and stepped back. Dean didn't reach for him, but he kept talking, a hard ice in his eyes that hurt Sam to look at. “You are never going to get that from me, Sam, you hear me? If I have to cut you out of my life forever, you'll never make me taint you like that. I won't let you throw your life away on a sick fantasy.”

Sam had lost, he was done. Even winning was losing and he couldn't see any winner here.

“Dean, you still don't understand,” he tried, though he knew it was totally useless. “I'm not pure, I'm not clean,” he tried one last time. “I'm not like you,” he said finally, knowing Dean's heart was pure and right and all things good. He knew he could never be like that.

Dean stepped resolutely away from the cafe wall, confidently tucked himself in and jerked his leather jacket back into shape. “Oh, I understand, Sammy,” he said, and Sam thought the cold in Dean's eyes was turning quite watery. “I hate it, but I understand. It's you. It's not me.” Dean wiped his face, clearing the salty stains out, and wiping away anything Sam could've said or done anymore. “But I gotta make sure nothing happens to you, Sammy. Keep you on the straight and narrow, for Mom. She'd roll over in her grave if she took one look at you like this. So if I'm your perverse temptation, then consider me gone.”

Sam wanted to counter Dean with something, anything, but all he found inside himself was the love and pain he truly felt in this moment. The tragedy of their lives wasn’t Mom, it was this. This would keep them apart forever, and it was all his fault.

Dean walked back to the car in big strides, not looking back once.

Sam watched him go. He watched Dean get in the driver's seat and slam the door, then roar away, rock music dying off into the night as he disappeared from sight.

Sam stood there, lost. He didn't want this, any of this. He didn't want Jess or Stanford or a goddamned apple pie life.

He just wanted Dean.

Yeah, Mom would kill him.


	4. 2005: Dean

**2005 (1x01): Dean**

> So on we go  
>  His welfare is of my concern  
>  No burden is he to bear  
>  We'll get there  
>  \---- He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother by B. Scott and B. Russell

“We've got work to do,” Sam said, chucking the guns in Baby’s trunk and slamming her backend shut.

Dean just stared at Sam, less than an hour after Jess had been burning on the ceiling like he'd always heard his Dad describe Mom had burned. He was so relieved he’d gotten a hunch to check on Sam, even though he had no idea where the feeling had come from. Fortunately that had allowed him to get Sam out just before the whole house went up in flames. So he just stood there, being blissfully happy that his brother was safe and sound, while the house was busy blazing in the background, with the entirety of Stanford PD and the Fire Department trying to deal with it.

Dean was honest enough to admit to himself that walking into Sam almost being fried to a crisp had scared him right down to his bones. The resonance of so long ago flared through him, as he still remembered carrying Sam out, his precious baby brother, and looking at the flames as Dad put his arm around them. Dean had never wanted to let go of Sam after that, fearing for Sam’s life every time he was out of arm’s reach. And it turned out that Dad’s arm had been ephemeral, as they never had a stable roof over their heads again, and soon Dean became the only constant thing in Sam’s life. Dean’s duty to little Sammy and Dad had been the only constant in his own. But eventually, messily and wretchedly, he’d had to let go of his Sammy.

Today of all days, he felt the strong need to have Sam close, to never let him go again. He’d physically hold onto Sam, if he could, but that was clearly not what Sam wanted from him right now.

Because yeah, this repeat was a shock to Dean, but looking at Sam in the dark, lit by the ominous blaze of the burning building, Sam had just lost the girl he loved, the one he had been planning a full and normal life with. Jess had probably been the answer to all of Sam’s dreams from the moment had had been old enough to ask why they didn't have a Mom.

Dean watched Sam stalk off to Baby’s passenger seat. Dean recognized how Sam got when he had that air about him, that determination to kill, maim and destroy, methodically and meticulously. Sam was holding in a huge amount of rage right now that he wanted to unleash upon the world, but couldn't. They had no one to punish for this, not yet. Sam would have to stow it and ride out the onslaught of emotions, until he could feel the grief he couldn’t even see yet.

Dean knew his brother better than anyone in the world, and he knew the pain had to come out, and it would come out soon. Dean really preferred it if it was soon.

He followed suit, got in the driver's side and put Baby in drive, wanting to get out of Palo Alto, out of the whole state of California, as soon as possible. They needed to get away from the firefighters, the police and any questions they might want to follow up on. They could come back for their own investigation later, but for right now they had to disappear STAT.

Sam was probably all the way in the system with the landlord, the university, library, and whatever else normal geek boys did. Being in the system made being a Hunter that much harder. They'd have to worry about all that later, though, as he looked over at Sam's hard face.

Sam had rolled the window down by the time Dean got in, and wasn't looking back at him. Dean took that for an echo of what he was thinking. “Let's scram,” he told Sam and made Baby go from zero to fifty in about twenty seconds.

Traffic was light in the city, so they made good time through San Jose, avoiding the highways. Dean wanted to get away from civilization as soon as possible, and after they'd made it through Freemont, he opted for the back roads in the general direction of Sacramento.

The roads became simpler, suburbia disappearing slowly, and finally they reached the end of inhabited areas. Houses became sparse, and every once in a while he saw a sign for a motel. He figured if Sam didn't ask to rest, they'd better just keep on going, even though it was probably three a.m. by now.

He looked over at Sam every now and then, checking him out, assuming he wouldn't be getting anything out of him in words. Dean was fine with the stoic silence he was used to from his brother when he was upset.

Upset! That so didn't cover it. Nothing would cover this for a good long while.

Sam had been rigid and still up till now, looking at but not seeing the night time scenery passing them by. Sam seemed to slouch a bit and Dean was hoping the kid would just go to sleep. When he glanced over one more time, he saw Sam was actually bracing himself, trying to get his head aligned with the cold desert wind of the still wide open window. He looked white as a ghost and he was all tensed up like he was about to toss his cookies.

“Sam?” Dean broke the silence, wanting to put a hand on his shoulder, but the disturbing events of their past stopped him from doing so.

They were no longer on a case, they were no longer in the tolerate-each-other work-mode they'd used all weekend. This was just the two of them together, intimately, like family, like brothers. They had unresolved sexual tension between them, and threats and concerns from the past to deal with.

It set of a rollercoaster of emotions every time Dean tried to make sense of it, and he couldn't. He didn’t want to do something that Sam could start to get antsy about again. Especially not now, in Sam’s situation. But for himself, preferably not ever.

His brother was obviously really suffering, so Dean asked again, “You okay, Sammy?”

Sam heaved in a breath and faltered. “Dean?”

“I'm here, kiddo,” Dean said, completely lost. “You gonna barf?”

Sam shook his head, and it looked painful to Dean. “It's my hair. These clothes, man.”

“Fuck!” Dean wanted to slam the breaks, but was afraid that would truly set off his brother hurling, so he slowed and gently stopped by the side of the road in what was most definitely the middle of nowhere. “Get out,” he commanded.

Sam complied, looking downright miserable, while Dean jumped out his side and dove in the back seat for his Canadian Army duffel bag. He joined Sam's side of the car, where he was leaning up against Baby, pale and shaky, clearly at the end of his rope.

How could he have forgotten how hyper sensitive Sam was? The boy he'd taken care of all his life. He fucking well should've remembered. He was kicking himself mentally while he continued to take action to fix things.

“Strip,” he barked at Sam. He put the bag on Baby's trunk and yanked it open.  

Sam just looked dazed.

“Strip!”

Sam started to take his shirt off, like an automaton.

Dean didn't care, nor did he want to think about what he would've sounded like to anyone else but himself right now.

He grabbed two clean t-shirts and two button down shirts. He was guessing they were probably similar sizes now, since Sam was more slender in the hips, but taller. His shirts would probably fit right enough around his shoulders. Dean rummaged for pants, but didn't have two pairs of jeans. He figured they'd fit around Sam's hips, with a belt maybe, but they would be about two inches too short for Sam. For right now, it would just have to do.

He tossed a clean t-shirt at Sam's head when he was bare-chested and shivering, and pointed to Sam's singed jeans, ordering, “Off! So help me.” He left the rest to Sam's imagination.

He decided his own jeans weren't affected too much by the fire, so he would keep his, Sam could take the clean pair. Dean’s legs were just covered in soot, which was also in their hair, on their skin and in all of Dean's clothes. But Sam's clothes were actually burned a bit too, just at the fringes, but enough to make them smell awful.

“Shit,” he muttered, while he was changing his own barbecued shirt for a clean one.

Dean realized that was why Sam had been sitting in the cold wind for an hour. He hadn’t been car sick, he’d been overwhelmed by the smell of what had just happened, and his adrenaline kick was plummeting by now, leaving him open to shock, grief and whatever else Sam would go through. Dean could feel his own system moving clearly on a downward slope, but Sam must be experiencing everything a good many times more intensely. It was his girlfriend who’d died, his life that had just gone up in smoke. He must be feeling what Dad had felt, when Mom-

No, Dean had no time to think about that right now. Taking care of Sammy was his first priority.

Sam just stood there, in Dean's clothes, with his old singed ones folded on Baby's roof. Ever the neat freak, his brother was. Dean was done with himself, closed his bag, and gathered up his own ruined shirts and heaped them on Sam's.

“Better?” he asked, very concerned with Sam's pallor and silence. A Sammy who doesn't talk is a bad thing, Dean knew. At least the kid wasn’t shivering anymore.

What they really needed was to clean themselves up with about three rounds of soap and shampoo before they'd smell their normal selves again, and that was just the material side of things. The other fallout would be a whole different bag of shit. He couldn't even begin to make a fix-it plan for that, so he ignored it for now.

Sam nodded unhappily. He waved in the direction of his head, not making much eye contact, and still very pale. “My hair. I can't-” Sam didn't finish that.

Dean got up close, careful to keep from touching Sam, and immediately smelled it wafting from Sam's tick mane, which was slightly uneven on one side now. A flash of the flames must have hit it, just as the fire had cruelly kissed most of their clothes. There was nothing quite so intensely nauseating as burned hair.

Right, that's it. He had to get Sam to a safe, calm and clean place. He remembered where he’d seen the last road sign to a motel, and hoped they could get a clean room there. Normally, they'd sleep in Baby if they needed to, but she didn't have a shower built in. Getting Sam clean was first on the to-do list, and decent beds would do them both a world of good.

“Get in,” he told Sam, and grabbed the nasty pile of clothes with one arm and flung them into the bushes beside the road. He wasn’t going to think about them ever again. He knew where the strong shampoo in his kit was buried, mentally noted to bring it along, and got back in the Impala in a hurry.

He wanted to screech with a U-turn, but he didn't want to give Sam any more reason to puke than he already had. His pallor could mean nausea or shock setting in, and Dean had no idea which one at this point. Sam was a tough motherfucker, but Dean had seen stronger men brought to their knees by less. Most Hunters weren’t the sensitive types like Sammy, and Dean had always made sure to take special care with his precious cargo.

He back-tracked a mile or two before turning onto a side road which led to what looked like a decent motel. At least all of the lights were functional and steadily lit on the outside, which was always encouraging.

When Dean put her in park, Sam was looking pretty wobbly. Dean didn't want him sitting inside the car where there was no air circulation, while he checked them in.

“Out,” he told Sam, before he went in the office to talk to the night guard. He asked for their best room, en suite, all the trimmings. He was assured it had a coffee maker and sugar, and he didn't even feel like yelling at the guy not to bother him with irrelevant shit. He just picked up the key and said, “Thank you.”

He grabbed his kit, his bag, and found Sam leaning against the wall of the nearest room. At this point, Dean estimated his brother was pretty much dead on his feet. He directed Sam to room number seven. Once inside Dean pushed him down on the first bed and noticed the room was actually very nice. It certainly was shiny clean everywhere, and the bed sheets were pristine.

“So this is how the other half lives,” he muttered, while getting his kit out for some serious scrubbing ahead.

Sam reached for the scissors, which were also buried in Dean’s kit, and grabbed for his own hair.

“Woah, little brother,” Dean caught hold of his arm, before Sam could get the cutting tool anywhere close to his seriously nice head of hair. “Let me. Okay?” Sam didn't object.

Dean wanted to get him in the bathroom as soon as possible. He felt like he'd been talking to a pillar of salt up till now, barking orders with no push-back, so he bypassed any discussion altogether and plain manhandled Sam until he was sitting on the fluffy purple toilet cover, ready to inspect how to handle straightening out Sam’s hair without losing much of it.

Dean tried to even both sides out and was happy to see he succeeded enough, so as not to make Sam look like a rabid dog had attacked him. It just looked like he had had an inch taken off Sam’s floppy mane, now. Close to one of his normal haircuts, at least when Dean was still doing them.

He could only imagine Sam feeling keenly that a seeing a serious change in his haircut in the mirror would be the metaphor for his girlfriend dying. Dean wanted to minimize the inevitable horror wherever possible at this point. From living with a grief stricken father for twenty-one years, he knew that was the extent of what he could do.

The grief never went away, Dean knew that more than most. And he’d feel the same if someone ever took Sammy away from him like that. Dad disappearing he could deal with, but Sam? Dean knew he’d go ballistic. Or worse.

After about ten minutes of playing barber, his mission was accomplished, but they both still reeked of smoke.

“Just one more thing, Sammy,” he promised and pushed a towel in Sam's lap. “Hit the shower and then hit the hay. You good to go?”

Sam nodded, rousing himself enough to bring back a bit of awareness in his frame and features. He was still white as a sheet, but nothing much could go wrong now he had Sam safely in a classy room with all the trimmings they would need until morning. So Dean left him to it, and started to prepare the beds.

He had one set of nightwear, but not two. He did have some spare boxer shorts, and another t-shirt, his last clean one, so he lay that on Sam's bed, and got his own out for after his shower.

Though all this was routine and almost thoughtless, the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck started to stand on end, slowly but surely, signally something being off. He waited, but there was nothing out of place. “Too much domesticity,” he decided, and was about to declare himself completely paranoid, when he heard a dull thud in the bathroom and he suddenly realized he wasn’t hearing the shower that should be running by now.

He got in there in a flash, finding Sam sitting next to the tub, where he’d slid off the toilet, head buried in his hands. The big towel lay across the tiny bathroom, like Sam had hurled it against the opposite wall. “Sammy?” He knelt down as close as he could, wedging himself in between the Sam and the sink.

Sam was shaking, but no sound came out. He could barely hear Sam breathe. He put a hand on his baby brother's head, fighting to keep himself from closing the distance between them. He needed to physically comfort Sam, no matter what had happened in the past. He’d known Sam would fall apart at some point, he'd just hoped it would be in the morning, after some decent sleep.

“Please, Sam,” he said aimlessly, and in a flash Sam looked up, stunning Dean with the most painful contortion on his face, of a man who had to scream, cry, launch into a rage, and just couldn't. “Breathe, baby,” he said, shaking Sam a bit.

Sam just shook his head, he seemed totally stuck, and Dean caved. To hell with caution and personal space and all that bullshit. He pulled Sam to him, Sam's head falling against his shoulder. Dean’s arms went around his little brother. Dean just wanted to hold him and make everything better, and he knew he couldn’t. Nothing would ever be the same for Sam again, and nothing Dean or anyone else did or said was going to make a blind bit of difference.

Slowly Dean felt Sam melt against him. Sam heaved in a breath and let out a horrible growling scream, as he dissolved into an uncontrollable bout of crying.

Dean never wanted to let go, ever. He couldn't stand seeing Sam hurting this much. He knew the only thing that he could do was hold on, be there, and protect his little brother from the world.

The past few days washed over him, how they'd been pretending there was no rift between them as long as they worked a case together. They'd acted like nothing hideous and horrible had happened last time he'd visited Stanford, that Sam's insane insistence on claiming to want to fuck him, his very own brother, wasn't persistently bubbling under the surface.

Fuck, he'd failed Sam in so many ways, he couldn't even begin to list them all. As Sam was safely in his arms, but hurting like hell, he knew he'd also failed Sam in ways he'd never imagined. Somehow Dean's efforts in raising Sam had made Sam believe that Dean was the only person who could fulfill all his needs. Dean didn't know where he’d gone wrong, but he knew it was his fault.

He had caused Sam’s sexual confusion and misplaced carnal focus, which meant he’d also caused Sam to run away from the family. In an indirect way, maybe, but he knew he had been a factor. Maybe he had unconsciously led Sam on in some way or another. Dean knew that there was a part of him that would do anything to keep Sam now, as the thought of walking away from Sam again was something he couldn’t bear.

Yes, he’d do anything for Sam, even that, if it came to it. But he had clamped down on that option of giving into Sam, hard. It wasn’t part of what a good brother should be.

Maybe Sam had picked up on how much Dean needed him, how far Dean would go to have Sam in his life, and had twisted it into this great hunger for Dean. Either way, Dean knew he had caused this problem, however unintentionally, which had created the rift between them for the past four years. Four unbearable years without Sam, of which he had hated every single minute.

He had messed Sam up and he wanted to fix it. He needed to fix it, but there was nothing he could do right now. At Stanford he’d decided that disappearing out of Sam’s life was the only solution. But now, as of tonight’s disaster and trauma, he knew he couldn't leave Sam again. Sam needed him, maybe even as much as he had always needed Sam.

No, there was no way he'd stay away from Sam as long as Sam required him for support, to put him back on his feet, and to wreak revenge on the evil thing that had ruined their lives over and over again. Dean knew his task. It was the same for Sam as it had been for Dad, and Dean was well trained for the part he would play to help Sam.

After a good long while of gut-wrenching but necessary crying, he could feel Sam calming down, becoming heavy in his arms. Dean considered just falling into bed, but knowing how sensitive his brother was, and how he'd reacted to the burned clothes and hair, he really wanted to get all the soot and smells off the both of them.

“Okay, Sammy, we're going to take a bath together. Just like when we were kids. Alright?” He was hoping Sam was still with him, as he lay slumped bonelessly against him. Sam nodded against his chest, moving away to take some of his weight off his big brother.

Dean reached over and ran the tub, plugged the drain and flailed around for Sam’s towel that had gone sprawling. His own was still on his bed, so one towel would just have to do for the both of them.

He coaxed Sam into stripping down, this time everything, and he marveled at how little room was left over as they both got in the tub, now two large grown men. Dean went to sit behind his brother and ran the showerhead over Sam's hair. He grabbed the shampoo and squeezed a good dollop out. He worked it in and then used his sudsy hands on his own much shorter hair, knowing it would do the trick.

He took the showerhead again and started to rinse Sam's hair out. When he’d done this regularly, a long time ago, it had been with a much smaller Sam, and a much shorter head of hair. Dean still remembered the routine. It came so naturally, Dean was surprised at the sweet familiarity of it all.

He came around with the second round of the shampoo, and Sam was quietly sitting, letting it happen. He didn't have a clue what Sam was thinking. He had to wash the rest of Sam, and himself, so he scrubbed where he could, first Sam, then himself. He knew that there was no way he could get rid of all physical remnants the horrendous night, so he called it quits after two go arounds.

He pulled the plug and got up to grab the towel, ignoring he was dripping everywhere. Sam got up, and Dean was faced with his brother for the first time ever, naked and glorious, as a well-developed adult. Sam's penis was hanging half erect and heavy, and it was the most masculine and sexy sight Dean had ever seen. That’s not to mention Sam's defined hips and amazing chest, which showed an athletic, impossibly tall, young man who'd been working out regularly.

Dean knew what the girls and some guys saw in Sam, because he saw it himself. His brother was a fucking Greek sex god, for Christ's sake!

He noticed Sam was staring at him, staring at his own brother also naked. Sam was almost defiant in his plain nudity, and seemed deliberate in his onslaught of male beauty.

Dean could just about hear him say, 'this is what you said no to, you fucking idiot,' but Dean decided that must all be in his head.

He held out the towel, going by the notion that Sam was back together enough to deal with drying himself off, and Dean quickly walked out to his bed where he'd left his own towel.

“Fucking idiot,” he repeated to himself. He shouldn't have stared at Sam like that. Hell, his own cock didn't obey him half the time either. Like now, case in point. He didn't need to put any judgments or conclusions on what he'd just seen. Except he was still haunted by the look on Sam's face, just for that second that he'd stared back at him, as if Sam were inviting or taunting him.

Dean put on his shirt and shorts and pounded on the bathroom door to make sure Sam was okay. “Get in bed, you can borrow my toothbrush in the morning.”

Please, he was begging internally, let's get to bed, sleep and find some way to be together without all this awkwardness. But to say that out loud would be to break the bond of not acknowledging what was bubbling below the surface between them, the fiery pit that they could both fall into if it was brought out in the open again. There was no telling how Sam would react this time, but Dean wasn’t betting on anything good. Sleeping dogs, he was hoping. Actually he’d love to shoot that particular dog.

Finally, Sam came out, with a composed, unreadable expression, which at least meant he was definitely more together than before. In fact, Sam looked collected with effort and intention. Dean decided to ignore whatever was on Sam's mind, and get into his bed.

Sam stood there for a moment longer, naked, with Dean ignoring him. Then he slowly made his way to his own bed, before stopping and turning toward Dean's.

Dean looked up at his naked brother, guessing at what he was after. But now Sam looked less severe, and more forlorn, losing his composure, which may have been fragile to begin with. It gave Dean a glimmer of hope that they could connect again like brothers, and stop being anywhere from adversaries, to sexual conquests or war buddies.

But he couldn't be sure and by now Sam’s expression was too jumbled, to the point of unreadable.

“Tell me what you need, Sam,” Dean said finally, unable to deal with the suspense any longer. “You eyeing my bed or-?” Fortunately, he didn’t need to finish that sentence.

“Just the bed,” Sam said, gloomily, “I promise.”

Dean opened the blankets for him and Sam crawled in, as if he were half his actual size. The years of sharing beds and curling up together rushed back to Dean, realizing he'd shied away from those memories for a long time now. For the last two years, he’d been afraid of feeling affection for Sam or remembering the times they physically enjoyed each other, in play, in sleeping arrangements, in life.

He'd not wanted to remember the good times, and he was an expert at not thinking about the bad times, which meant he'd not been able to think about him and Sammy in any context at all, comfortably. It had been like cutting off his own arm, because Sam was his whole life. Even with Sam away at school, and his focus steeled on being Dad’s good little soldier, all Dean had ever cared about was Sam. No, it had felt more like scooping out his own heart, when he’d left Sam behind in Stanford, and he’d cried all the way to Oregon from there. Something he’d never tell anyone, not even Sammy. Ever.

He felt Sam's back scoot closer to his front. His instinct was to reach out and pull his baby bother to him, but he didn't. He flashed on that night in Stanford, the feeling of the cold brick wall Sam had pushed him up against and the threats he had made. He’d never forget Sam's thigh pressed up hard against his balls, a moment of violation, of sexual intimidation that he'd never expected from his brother.

It was obvious that Sam was in no shape to make a move on Dean again tonight, but it was just as clear to Dean that Sam still wanted him. Even though in the past weekend, everything in their lives had changed, where Sam was concerned, nothing had changed.

So Dean couldn’t close the distance between them on the bed, with too much muddied water under the bridge, but he refused to move away from Sam. He’d been without Sam for far too long and his own need for closeness with his brother had grown in that time.

Dean cursed them both to high Heaven in his mind.

Sam sighed. “I need to find Jess's killer,” he said softly, like he knew it was redundant to say so. As opening lines went, it was about as innocuous as Dean could think of to start with. The truth was always a good way to go between them, though it seemed they rarely went there. “Dean, I want you to get this, give you fair warning. You're safe from me until I get justice for Jess.”

Those were Dad's words, 'I won't rest until I get justice for your Mom,' he'd always said.

Would it take them as long as it had taken Dad to find the monster? And how long would it take before they found Dad?

And 'safe'? What did safe mean to Sam? No more talk about banging him? Or no more real communication at all between them? Just work, cold and distant?

Dean didn't know if he could live with Sam this way, but he knew for certain he couldn't live without Sam close by now that Dad was gone, so he wasn’t in any sort of bargaining position. He’d just have to wait to see what Sam was going to do, and Dean would take whatever crumb of his brother was thrown his way.

“We'll get justice,” he assured Sam.

Sam buried his head into the pillow away from Dean, and a deep sigh wracked through him, making the bed and both of them shudder. Dean could only imagine the amount of tension Sam was dealing with. He felt the pull of his need to comfort Sam grow and found himself putting a hand on Sam’s shoulder.

Sam jerked away, as if Dean had hit him. Sam emerged from his duck-and-cover position, but didn't move any closer to Dean. “You don't know what your presence does to me, man,” Sam said, wretchedly.  

“You don't have to tell me, kid,” Dean said, hoping to provide comfort, to make Sam's pain go away. He would deal with anything that was asked of him to keep Sam safe. Anything at all. “We can just ignore it.”

“Maybe you can, or you think you can,” Sam's voice sounded heartbreakingly glum now, “but if you think that any moment I'm near you, my hormones don't go into overdrive, then you're sadly mistaken.”

Dean couldn't believe that was true. It sounded utterly insane, out of this world, not natural. But it would explain what had happened at Stanford, or when Sam left, for that matter. Sam had been trying to tell him at Stanford that Dean was his problem, his reason to run away from the family. Sam seemed to think there was no way around that, that somehow they were doomed.

Dean was about to deny that, but the resignation and pain he’d heard in Sam's voice stopped him. “Sam, we can get past this,” he offered instead. He was willing, just someone let him know how, please. “We can fix this. You've just projected some need for love onto me, and it's got all garbled up with sex, like it probably does for everyone. We didn't have Mom, and she would've been able to give you much more love than I did.” He hadn't meant to ramble on and dredge things up from the past, but it had just come tumbling out of him. Dean didn't know what to do anymore. “I know it's all my fault, Sammy. I must've just been-”

Sam turned halfway and put a hand on Dean's hip to stop him. It worked better than shooting him in the leg would've done to shut him up so quickly. Dean could feel the heat coming off Sam's hand, and it was terribly distracting. There was tension, fire even, in Sam's eyes, and Dean felt like he was being invited to a staring down contest, only with love, with desire, with sexual heat. It confused the hell out of him.

“How can you possibly think that?” Sam asked, incredulity all over his face. “You were the best big brother a kid could ask for. The best man, the best father.”

Dean let it in, he let it all in, and it landed in his heart, warming him up like he had come home. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, given the night, the weekend they’d had, and the mess they were in.

He searched the face of the one he loved more than anything or anyone in the world, and found he saw only the truth there. And it wasn't bad. It was – beautiful.

Sam was staring at him, possibly waiting to get his attention. “Look, man, I never wanted you to feel this was your fault,” Sam continued. “I'm the one that's fucked up.”

“No,” Dean tried, but he was lying. Sam was seriously fucked up. Maybe Dean was fucked up too, and hadn't realized it. Maybe he had given Sam cause to think he would ever want to do – this – with him.

No, he could _never_. Could he?

He knew he shouldn't.

Sam let his hand slide up higher along Dean's hip onto his waist. Dean couldn't believe the tenderness in the touch, the trail of goodness it was leaving on his skin, and how much he found he was savoring it. He realized without a shadow of a doubt, that he wanted more.

“Yes, Dean,” Sam insisted. “But I want you to understand that this is me. I'm not going to change. I'm not getting un-fucked up. If you can't accept it, then I'm gone, as soon as we find and kill that Monster.”

Dean hated these seemingly endless ultimatums from Sam. First Stanford, now here. On top of the fact that Dean's own world was falling apart as well with Dad clearly missing.

“Well, fuck you,” he cursed into Sam’s face, wanting for their family to be back together again, for things to be like they’d been before Sam left. He’d never have that now, he knew, and he hated the world for it.

“I wish, man.” Sam pulled his hand away, and Dean immediately missed it. Just some small bit of goddamn human contact, and Sammy goes all in a huff again. His temperamental and overly sensitive little brother sure liked to make things complicated.

“I'm beat,” Sam said in a sad and tired tone and got up, left Dean, and moved to his own bed. “Let's fight about it tomorrow, okay?”

Dean felt like something had been torn from his body. Sam's unbearable absence where he'd just been in his bed was more excruciating than those years that Sam had been a thousand miles away in California. He grit his back teeth together, so as not to give into the many emotions that were flooding him, leaving him with the basic urge of fight or flight.

But this was Sam, who'd just lost his girl, and Dad was MIA. They had a monster to track, evil to fight, revenge to wreak, and he absolutely, categorically, was not going to do it alone.

“You're staying until we find Dad and the score is settled for Mom,” Dean ordered.

“And Jess,” Sam echoed, so low from the other bed it sounded choked.

“After that, we'll fight. Until then, I don't bug you, you don't bug me. Deal?”

“Fuck yeah,” Sam murmured. Dean was sure he was halfway asleep.

After the shock of today, following an action packed weekend, something he was sure Sam had not been used to anymore after the past four years of cushy student life, Sam was understandably bushed. Soon he was dead to the world, snoring gently.

Dean's only concern tonight had been for Sam, but he had also touched Sam in a way he hadn't for years and years. This weekend he'd felt what he hadn't felt since his brother had left. Partnership, friendship, kinship. Love.

He wasn't sure Sam was the only one who had developed sexual feelings where he shouldn't. Dean couldn't figure it, and he’d be damned if he’d let himself think about it too much. They had work to do, catching this fucker and finding Dad, and they had no clues on how to do either. 

As things stood, they were both pretty fucked.


	5. 2006 (2x01): Sam

**2006 (2x01): Sam**

> It's a long, long road  
>  From which there is no return  
>  While we're on the way to there  
>  Why not share  
>  \---- He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother by B. Scott and B. Russell

Dean wouldn't stay in the hospital a minute longer than he absolutely had to, so Sam dragged him out to a nearby motel, where Dean could rest. Meanwhile Sam had to make preparations for Dad's Hunter’s funeral as soon and as silently as possible.

“Shit,” he muttered, figuring Dean was asleep on one of the queen beds, where he hadn’t stirred for hours.

Sam had spent most of the day on the phone with Bobby to get the funeral done seriously low key. He had gone out briefly to get fake orderly credentials from Bobby's contact, so he could arrange pick-up with the coroner at the hospital to transport Dad's body, technically to bring him to a funeral home, but in reality to be salted and burned on their private pyre.

He had no idea if Dean would be back on his feet by then, seeing the nasty cut on his forehead was still there. A coma isn’t something you bounce back from so quickly. The doc had said Dean was all healed up, but Sam didn’t want to take any chances, so he wasn't figuring Dean into any of the planning.

Bobby was expecting them at his yard the following day, and had assured Sam that they were welcome to stay a while. Bobby, who used to be Uncle Bobby to Sam, could provide the best place for Dean that Sam could think of, while he was recuperating. And if Dean felt up to it, he could even tinker with the Impala to keep his mind off of losing Dad, because Sam knew that was going to be Dean’s biggest hurdle going forward.

Nothing would ever fill that hole in Dean's life. Sam knew all too well that Dean had devoted himself exclusively to the family, to him and Dad, and that Dean felt responsible for every little thing in their lives that had ever gone wrong, and there were a shit load of those.

Starting with Sam himself. He shook his head.

That was the furthest thing on Dean's mind at this point, Sam hoped. Dean hadn't dredged up the awful things that Sam had said at Stanford, not even once this past year, after they’d agreed to work together to avenge Mom and Jess. Sam could almost believe Dean had forgotten it all, like it had never happened.

But Sam could never forget. He felt the yearning, the temptation, the need, every time he was in close quarters with Dean. He'd gotten so used to suppressing it. It had started to become second nature, but it never went away. Sometimes, in rare moments of quiet and tranquility, he could feel what Dean felt, a good brotherly bond, and those times were filled with such utter joy for him. But in the end, his physical need always returned.

He was going to keep his promise, no matter how bad it got. He would never touch Dean that way, not until the Yellow Eyed Demon was put to death. And then Sam knew they would have to part company, forever.

Sam slammed his laptop shut and grabbed the Gas-n-Sip bag with vaguely edible and drinkable food items. With some luck they wouldn't have to go out tonight.

The Gas-n-Sip certainly wasn’t his favorite place to shop for food. Sam hadn't trusted any of the hot dogs that had been sitting under the heating lamp for far too long. They’d looked completely at the end of their allotted lifespan. So he’d opted for the wheat turkey sandwiches that had seemed about the only remotely appetizing thing there. Well, his cast iron stomach brother would be more likely to consider it food than Sam did.

He assumed from the fact that Dean had actually been sleeping from late afternoon onward, that he was either physically or emotionally drained. Miraculous as his recovery had been – with even the doctor stating Dean had an angel watching out for him – all assumptions on Dean’s condition should be stowed for now. Sam wasn't taking any bets on how Dean was really doing until the next couple of days.

Sam actually wasn't doing great himself, but the loss of Dad to him was nothing compared to what it meant to Dean, who had revered the man, emulated him, and had worked his butt off all his life to earn their Dad's approval. And he’d rarely got it, to be honest.

Sam hoped that the last moments Dean had spent with Dad had been good ones. He was thankful Dad had mellowed and asked him for coffee before he died, because Sam had been itching for another fight right there and then. He'd practically called his father a liar to his face.

He sighed, wiping his hands over his face. He wished to God that he'd said something better, nicer, and had let bygones be bygones. But who the hell could've known that Dad was going to die from a heart attack two minutes later?

And then there was the case of Dean's ‘miracle recovery’, which had solved all injuries that were killing him, but had left all the cuts and bruises on the outside. Weird to say the least, if it was some Supernatural escape from that Reaper that Dean had warned him about. At any rate, it wasn't natural, there was no doubt about that in Sam's mind. It had to tie in with Dad, but how?

What could Dad possibly have done that could've saved Dean?

“Sam?” Dean asked blearily, stirring and looking around as if to get his bearings.

“Yeah, here.” Sam moved over to Dean's bed and brought the compromise of a dinner to his brother. “Hungry?”

“Ravenous,” Dean wiped his hand over his spiky hair as he sat up, completely messing it up as he did so.

He looked gorgeous. He smelled like sex on legs. Dean was practically irresistible. Sam was thanking his lucky stars Dean was still alive.

“I could eat a double cheese burger.”

“Well, we don't have that, but try this on for size,” Sam said encouragingly. He was putting bets on Dean spitting it out, while making the ugliest face he could manage, just to annoy Sam. These things generally didn't do much more than amuse him, so he looked forward to what antics Dean could come up with, and the more elaborate Dean got, the better Dean was doing.

Dean ogled the terrible turkey sandwich with barely ripe tomatoes and wilted lettuce suspiciously.

“Tell me there's at least mayo on this thing,” he pleaded woefully, putting on his patented starved puppy dog face.

“Nope,” Sam grinned, happily taking a bite out of his own. Okay, so the fake brown bread was actually quite horrible, and the turkey was tasteless, but technically this was healthy food and better than all the sugar loaded, fat loaded crap that he’d bypassed in the little shop. “Eat it or starve,” he advised.

Dean grabbed the Gas-n-Sip plastic bag and inspected the contents. He pulled the bag of sour cream and chives potato chips out and tore it open with relish. “That's more like it,” he said. Dean split his sandwich open on the bed, arranged a thick layer of chips on top of the uninspiring turkey and smashed the other slice on top, crushing the chips with gusto, and spreading crusty crumbs all over the blanket.

A big smile overtook Dean's earlier misery. “There. Taste and fat. Just the way I like it,” Dean declared and proceeded to eat the whole sandwich. Clearly, he was as hungry as he'd said. Sam noted that down as a good thing, putting Dean one tick box closer to becoming his old self again.

Once their bellies were filled, Sam got out the two beers from the six-pack he'd gotten them. He handed one to Dean and plonked down on his own bed, setting the beer on the night stand after a small sip for show. He actually didn't want alcohol. Life was already too confusing as it was, and beer tended not to improve it any for him, no matter how many times he got told by Dean and the world that it should. He figured that alcohol just wasn't a match for whatever it was that he had running through his veins, that gave him his visions, the dreams, the headaches, and maybe an overactive sex drive where his seriously delectable brother was concerned.

Dean was right, Sam really was a freak, and he had known it for a long time. The problem was, he had no way of being anything else and he couldn't pretend to be something he wasn't. That just wasn't part of his psychological make-up.

It was getting late. Dean had actually slept for a few hours, but Sam was emotionally done with the day. He just wanted to curl up with a book and not think about the fact that he had found his father dead on the floor that morning. If he allowed himself to start to think about that, he would go off the deep end, fast.

But maybe not as deep as he should be going. Maybe Sam wasn’t hurting enough at the loss of Dad.

He had Dean back. He couldn't believe he had Dean back. He relished the familiar and very welcome pheromones his brother was exuding. He relished his body reacting and he breathed them in slowly, drinking in the amazing reality of his living brother. He'd keep his own pressing instincts at bay forever, as long as he knew Dean was okay.

Dean had some clue how far from normal Sam was by now, but even he didn't know how utterly unclean Sam actually was. Sam hoped that Dean would stay ignorant of that, forever.

He opened his book. Dante's Inferno. Well, he figured that he'd have to read it at some point in his life, given the fact that they were fighting demons now. At least nothing as outrageous as what was in the book would ever happen in real life. That kind of put things into perspective for Sam. They truly had some things to be thankful for.

“You reading something brainy there, Sammy?” Dean asked, while stretching in his bed, as if he'd slept enough and was now ready for the day.

“Sort of. It's like a kind of Biblical, Renaissance fantasy,” Sam tried to summarize.

“Yup, sounds brainy. But I like fantasy,” Dean added.

“You like fantasy if it's in the form of animated Japanese cartoon characters with silly facial expressions.”

“It's called Anime, and yeah, that's good stuff. Especially with massive boobs,” Dean added with a gleam.

Sam just shook his head and went back to losing himself in his book.

He gradually lost track of time. If he'd thought about it, he would've assumed Dean had gone to sleep, but at some point he started to feel two green eyes intently staring at him.

He countered them head on. “You okay there, Dean?” He asked, not knowing what the silence and somewhat sad look on Dean's face meant.

Dean didn't answer, but slowly got up, purposefully, like a panther working his way to his prey.

Sam now found he was the one staring as he saw his brother taking his t-shirt off.

Dean looked intense, determined and wound up tighter than a ball of string.

“Dean?”

His brother took his boxer briefs off, revealing, well, everything.

Sam noted that Dean was not flaccid. He could feel the sexual tension in the room rise and it was wafting off his brother in waves.

Sam was used to fluctuating levels of sexual tension whenever he was near Dean, sometimes to the point of overwhelming him, but it was his own carnal desire he was feeling those times. This time he could feel Dean creating it, sending it off to Sam. It was arousing Sam faster than he was used to suppressing and he almost failed to keep his animal instincts at bay.

“Dean, don't do this,” he warned. He wanted to get off the bed, grab his jacket and get the hell out. A low simmer with intermittent peaks coming off Dean randomly, he had a handle on, but the full on onslaught of Dean's sexual focus was a whole other ball game.

Sam couldn't deal with this. “If you want to take a shower or something, or need to take care of some, uh,” he waved towards Dean's steadily growing cock, “I'll need to go find the nearest hole in the wall around here.”

Dean kept moving toward him, still homing in on him like a tracking animal would. “No, Sam. No shower.”

“Well, what, then, man?” Sam was raising his voice now, whatever he could do to get Dean to stop. This was just a small warning mode he afforded himself, but only because he didn't want to walk out on his brother, who'd been given up for dead by the doctors less than 12 hours ago. “You gotta know you're treading on dangerous ground here, if you don't want me to-”

“To nail me? To use me? To screw me into the mattress?” Dean asked very confidently, but Sam sensed there was something more, something completely different behind his brother's actions. For the moment that reason was enough for Sam to stay and not remove himself from Dean's presence yet.

“Yes! Fuck it, Dean. Don't do this!”

Dean had reached his bed excruciatingly slowly, like a man who was afraid of what he was about to do, except his face showed only resolve, not fear. “I'm gonna give you what you want, Sammy. What you've been asking for.”

“No,” Sam said. “This isn’t you talking.” He was sure this couldn't be real. Dean didn't mean it. He was possessed or something worse. Maybe he hadn't even been Dean since he'd woken up! The holy water was in the duffel bag, and that was eight foot away from his bed. Shit!

Then he thought back to the sandwich and no demon could’ve thought of crushing sour cream potato chips on a turkey sandwich. Dean was just too weird for most demons out there to emulate.

Dean knelt down on his brother's bed, hands above Sam's shoulders, resting against the headboard, and spreading his legs to either side of Sam's thighs. If he hadn't had the years with Dean that Sam had under his belt, he would've been incredibly intimidated.

“I know you want this, Sammy,” Dean rumbled low through is throat.

Sam wanted to hit Dean. How do you hit the man you love and who'd just woken up out of a coma?

“Fuck, Dean,” Sam spat at him. “You fucking well know I want this. But I know you don't. I haven’t welched on our deal, man. What the hell are you playing at?”

Dean pushed closer and Sam was afraid that he wouldn't be able to control his own urge to close the distance and claim Dean's cock with his mouth. If he allowed that, he was sure he wouldn't stop until the inevitable end. After that, Dean would scorn and despise him, never speak to him again, and they'd never find the Yellow Eyed Demon.

Dean probably could hunt down and kill their nemesis alone. Hell, Sam could probably finish their mission alone if he had to. But their partnership would be ended forever. The thought of that hurt even more than the pain of being tempted by his brother every goddamn day.

No, he wasn't going to give in to this insane moment of whatever was going on with Dean and ruin everything they'd built up over the past year.

He shoved Dean away, noting he needed to use all his strength to do it. Dean was fit and strong, on par with any normal day for Dean. Maybe he needed no recovery time, Sam wondered.

What the hell kind of black magic had Dad used to bring Dean back?

“Don't you fuck with me, man,” Sam warned, when Dean approached again. “I'll leave right now. I swear I will.”

That stopped his brother in his tracks, as if he'd been slapped across the face by Dad's ghost. “No,” he whispered.

Sam could see the color drain from Dean's face and he was visibly losing all his hunter focus in the space of a few seconds.

Sam hadn't expected Dean to react like that, like he'd emotionally wounded him in some profound way. All he'd said was that he'd leave if-

“Fuck,” Sam muttered, realizing his mistake. “I'm not leaving you again, Dean, okay? I didn’t mean going away forever.”

He got worried when Dean just stood there, lost. He hadn't seen his brother lost very often. Most of the time Dean covered everything up, so that Sam was left guessing about what was really going on under the surface for his highly emotional, but expertly guarded brother.

Sam was starting to realize he'd probably overestimated the recovery Dean had made. He had been written off as dead this morning, for Christ's sake. Sam mentally kicked himself for his momentary lapse into carelessness.

“Sit down,” he told his brother, but Dean didn't move. Sam reached for an arm and pulled him to sit on his bed with him. “You gotta take it easy, man,” he added, hoping Dean had just had a psychotic episode or something, to explain his disturbing sexual display from just now. That couldn't have been Dean voluntarily offering him unbridled sex out of the blue. It just couldn't.

He couldn't believe the state of his life, in which the least horrible option was that his brother was a psychiatric head case. How fucked up were they to view that the preferred explanation?

“Listen to me, Dean. I'm here, and I'm staying,” he assured again. “Okay?”

Dean lifted a hand to Sam's face, but changed his mind and settled on Sam’s chest. He just pressed it there, and breathed, closing his eyes.

His threat of walking out – possibly forever – seemed to have shaken Dean more than facing any vampires, monsters with guns and magic, or dealing with Sam's visions had over the past year. Sam felt like an insensitive fool for what he'd said in the heat of the moment, just to preserve the precarious balance on their relationship.

Sam put a hand over Dean's and also closed his eyes.

Now he could feel Dean's pulse, his heartbeat thrumming steadily, invitingly. He felt his brother’s pheromones creeping into his skin, trying to make themselves Sam's master and urging him to take what his instincts were telling him was his. He shoved it all down, the promise of pleasure, the promise of release. He pushed it down until he finally found his footing.

Dean came first, he told himself. Never forget that.

“I know you're messed up over Dad,” he told Dean once he had sufficiently calmed himself down. He opened his eyes and noted Dean hadn't.

Instead Dean squeezed his tightly and turned his head away, as if to ward off any talk of Dad.

Sam wanted to soothe him somehow, but what can you say when your father has just died and was lying in the morgue, in the process of being chilled?

“I'm still here,” was all Sam could think of. “I’m not going anywhere.”

How could he have been such an idiot? Dean must've thought he had threatened to leave like when he went to Stanford - forever, never to come back - running away from Dad, from him. Dean must've found himself completely alone in the world. Sam knew his brother well enough to know that was the one thing Dean couldn't handle.

The determination and catlike approach Dean had taken earlier to offer himself to Sam suddenly started to make some twisted sense to him.

What had Dean said? He was going to give Sam what he wanted, what Sam had told him he craved. Was that what Dean thought he needed to do to keep him here? Was that why Dean had offered himself?

More than assurance would be needed if that was what Dean feared. Sam felt he needed to remind Dean of his promise.

“We've still got our deal, remember?” Sam said. “We haven't beaten The Yellow Eyed Demon yet. That was the deal, right? You and me, fighting the good fight, avenging Mom and Jess.”

Dean slowly turned back to face Sam, deep sorrow now across his brow and in the depths of his eyes. With those eyes he seemed to search Sam's face, Sam's soul, but Sam wasn’t sure Dean was seeing him at all.

“I can't do it, Dad,” Dean whispered.

Sam felt like Dean seeing a mirage of their father. Was he delirious?

Dean tilted his head in an anguished entreaty. “Please don't ask me.”

Sam's worry level spiked at this. What couldn't he do? What had Dad asked of him? Taking care of Sam? Holding their family together until Dad's perpetual mission found some sort of end? Giving up any sort of life Dean could've lived, if he hadn't been fated by the Yellow Eyed Demon to sacrifice himself for the good of the family, for Sam?

Sam's heart was breaking, because this was something he preferred not to think about, like ever. If he allowed himself to feel guilt for how Dean’s life had turned out because of him, because of Mom, because of Dad, he knew he would be lost. He would go to the ends of the Earth, destroy everyone and everything, probably including Dad, to get Dean out, to give him his freedom. He would do more harm than good, so he'd opted for taking himself out of the equation and hoping someday, the day the mission was accomplished or maybe even the day Dad died, Dean would finally be free.

But this was the day Dad had died, and clearly Dean was far from free. He was lost, he was hallucinating, he was having a psychotic break, and that's not even mentioning the fact that his life had hung in the balance just this morning.

“Dad's not here, Dean. It's me,” Sam added carefully.

Dean seemed to focus on Sam and Sam could see the lights going on again, the wall coming up again. Soon Dean was in control again, guards and all. “Sam,” Dean said slowly.

“I'm not Dad. I won't ask for anything you don't want to give. I told you, you don't have to worry,” Sam tried to assure his brother. “I have myself under control.” Although this up close and personal with a spectacularly nude Dean was seriously testing his resolve.

But there was one more truth behind all this. “I know what I said before, Dean, but I would never hurt you. I don't want to hurt you. That's why I'll protect you from me. “

Dean shook his head, unhappily. “I don't need protection, Sammy.” His passive hand grabbed Sam's shirt and clutched it in his fist like a life line. “I need you. “

“You got me, man. I ain't going nowhere.”

“Yes you will, Sammy.” Dean dropped his hands into his own lap.

Sam was happy to get some breathing space back, but it was followed immediately by a keen sense of loss.

“Eventually,” Dean finished, dejectedly.  

Yes, he would, Sam knew. That was their deal.

Dean let his head hang, wearily.  “I hope we never catch that son of a bitch.”

Dean had said that before, Sam remembered. When Sam's life was in danger and later Dad's. Sam had seen Dean choose his loved ones over Dad’s obsession before. Hell, Dean had lost his entire childhood over it.

Sam knew Dean had always upheld dad's mission as his own because of his loyalty, his devotion to Dad and Sam. That's all Dean had ever had, someone else's dream. Dad's. And he'd worked his ass off, trying to realize it for him.

It occurred to Sam, not for the first time, that Dean had taken over Mom's role after she'd died, taking care of Sam and standing by Dad in whatever he needed to do. That's a wife's role, not the eldest child's, certainly not at five, ten, or fifteen years of age.  

Without Dad, what was Dean's position in life, Sam wondered. What was his mission? Who was Dean without the hunting life? He'd never known anything else and he’d done it all for Dad.

To Sam, Dean was everything, his whole world and more. The be all and end all of everything, back all the way to the beginning of his life, all his memories were filled with Dean. Even his four years away from the family, Dean had been in his every step, his subconscious, his desires, his dreams.

But Sam didn't know how to tell his brother any of that, how to make him feel it, or how to not scare him off by the intensity of his desires.

All he knew now, though, was the desolation he saw in his brother's face, his posture. Dean was a stringless puppet without Dad directing him like a meticulously trained hunting dog. That was Dean’s reality and it had never been acknowledged, but to Sam, it had become undeniable.

Sam's heart bled for Dean, who was sitting like a defeated animal, waiting to become dinner, and to be served up to the victor. Was that why Dean had offered himself to Sam, to become his trained hunting dog?

Sam wanted to grab him, shake him, tell him he was his own man with his own free choices. Sam wanted to go further and crush Dean with his body and make love to him until he was clear on how much he meant to Sam. But it was off limits, both by agreement and to Sam’s common sense. You just don't fuck your brother in his time of grief and confusion.

So he kept his hands to himself.

“Hey Sam,” Dean asked, a slight glimmer of his old self back in his eyes. “Do you think there are any car repairs looking to hire in, say, San Jose or Fremont, places like that?”

Sam nodded, following Dean's train of thought swiftly. “Close to Stanford?”  

Dean shrugged with a little more bravado than his pallor or the haunted look on his face would support. He was trying to find himself, Sam thought, trying to find a place for himself.

“It's Northern California, Dean. They've got vintage cars coming out of their ears. I'm sure they'd snap you up with your skills.”

“Wouldn't want to crowd ya,” Dean said, “but if we do get the son of a bitch, you know, I could like, visit my brainy brother sometimes.”

Sam let out a breathy laugh, feeling the tension in the room breaking down, and he was grateful for it. Dean was taking care of himself, like he always did, so that Sam wouldn’t have to. Dean didn’t accept help from anyone, ever. Sam knew his brother all too well. “I'd like that,” he sighed happily.

Gratitude didn't cover it.

Dean let the bluster go for the moment, but the tension didn't build back up. “I was serious, you know,” he spoke in a very low voice, one Sam didn’t hear often from his brother. “I could do it.”

Sam wondered if he was hearing things. Could Dean be saying what he thought he was?

“You could do, like, what, Dean?”

Dean waved to himself, still starkly naked on Sam's bed. “I could,” he repeated, embarrassment pouring out of every part of his body now. “Physically,” he clarified, but not terribly clearly. “Does that make me a freak too?”

Sam was still processing what he was hearing. Was Dean admitting he would have sex with him, if it came down to it? Sam wasn’t sure that Dean was intending to say what Sam was thinking right now. Either way, Sam was pretty sure they were both freaks. “Yeah, I'm afraid so,” he said finally. “Welcome to the club, man.”

Dean got up off the bed, grabbed his night clothes off the floor and sluggishly put them back on. He looked dead tired. When Dean was about to step into his own bed, he turned, and in the same low voice, admitted, “Actually been a member for a long time, Sammy.”

Sam noticed Dean was serious, but seemed surprised by himself. He’d always held onto his non-freak status with such pride and determination. Maybe it had been an act, as Dean was a master in deceiving everyone, including himself.

One thing was certain, there was nothing about what Dean was saying that sounded like an invitation. Sam was going to let it go at that. He already had too much to digest. He had never imagined that Dean could be in any way attracted to him, let alone physically open to Sam's 'perversion' as Dean had called it years ago.

He found he was not ready for that piece of information. Sam had no doubt though, that whatever Dean was feeling, it wasn't what Sam was feeling.

Dean had had plenty of chances to take Sam up on his desires, his threats. Sam was more inclined to believe all this was still a part of Dean's attempt to keep Sam from leaving. He'd chalk it up to Dean's crazy antics, like a cornered wild animal would jump in strange directions to get out of a jam.

Yes, Sam was sure. Undeniably, Dean would do anything to keep him, even promise what he couldn't give, and tonight Dean couldn't be held accountable for his actions. Sam barely felt competent himself and wouldn't want to be held accountable if it came down to it.

When he knew Dean was safely in bed, Sam heard Dean go to sleep soon after. Sam lay back down himself, but didn't know if he could catch any sleep tonight, after all this.

And tomorrow, they would burn Dad.


	6. 2007: Dean

**2007 (2x22): Dean**

> And the load  
>  Doesn't weigh me down at all  
>  He ain't heavy he's my brother  
>  \---- He Ain't Heavy, He's My Brother by B. Scott and B. Russell

Dean yanked Baby into reverse until they were back on the dirt road, away from the fucking crypt, away from the railroad laced Devil’s Trap, away from Bobby and Ellen, and if he drove long enough, away from Wyoming altogether.

With the Yellow Eyed demon finally d-e-d dead, their mother avenged, and their father unexpectedly escaped from Hell, they’d finally done what his whole life had been geared to. But relief was nowhere in sight for Dean, not just because of the one-year time limit now on his own life, but also because Sam’s deal with him ran out when their goal had been achieved. Sam would want to get away from him as soon as possible and Dean was a man of his word.

So he didn’t care what it took, just as long as they got the hell out of there, away from the place where life as he knew it had just ended forever.

As soon as he found a perceptible road, he pointed Baby westward and hit the gas, hard. Now if only his head wasn’t throbbing like a bastard from when he’d slammed into the headstone by the demon, he could take care of things swiftly and painlessly. Dean had loads of fresh demons to hunt who’d escaped out of that Devil’s Gate, and he’d get right on that, just as soon as he got Sam where he needed to be.  

Meanwhile Sam was sitting silently looking at Dean, probably waiting for some explanation from him as to where he was taking them. Back there, Sam had just declared he was going to save Dean from the Crossroads deal, but Dean knew Sam couldn’t save him, no matter what he cooked up, so he wasn’t going to debate it with his well-meaning, goodie-two-shoes little brother.

On top of that, Dean just couldn’t take being in limbo anymore about what was smoldering between them, even now he knew he only had one year to live, he was done with it. So there was only one solution, they had to split up now.

He felt Sam still staring at him, expectantly.

“Your work is done, Sammy,” Dean said, feeling this uncontrollable need to poke around subjects that hurt the most. “Our deal is over. Yellow Eyes bit the dust. I’m taking you back.”

“Look, Dean, you can’t decide that for me,” Sam said slowly, as if trying to gauge whether Dean was serious, given the surefire doom looming over him.

But Dean was serious as a heart attack. In fact, the sooner they got on the I-80 to Sacramento, the better. If they drove all night, they might make it back to Stanford tomorrow with daylight left over.

“No, Sammy. That’s what you wanted. You were totally up front about your terms from the beginning, fair and square. You don’t owe me nothing, and I don’t welch on my word.” Dean almost laughed at the craziness of the emotional mess they’d been managing. He felt the sick elation of relief that their agreement had finally come to an end, for better or for worse. With his head pounding the way it was from being tossed onto that stupidly hard headstone, he stifled any quips that popped into his probably certifiable brain and concentrated on the road. What he was doing was too horrible to even kid about. He just wanted this over with, and his plan had no part two.

And when he got Sam back to where he wanted to be, Dean figured in a way he’d cease to exist as a person. Oh, he would hunt the escaped creatures with Bobby and Ellen, exorcise as many demons as he possibly could, before the Hellhounds came to get him for his one-way ticket to down below. With some regularity, he’d talk a questionable dive waitress in the middle of Hicksville into sharing brief ecstasy with no strings and no looking back.

That was not a plan B. It was just going through the motions of a life without Sam, waiting for the inevitable end.  

Dean hadn’t intended what he’d said to sound like an opening to a discussion, but Sam seemed to want to counter him anyway. Why didn’t Sammy ever do what he was told?

“Seriously?” Sam was using his get-real voice. “I mean, you’re kidding, right?”

No, he didn’t want his life to finish in a puff of solitude - saving people, hunting things, without his brother - but he’d damn well made a promise to Sam and his head was aching too much to argue with his own code of honor, such as it was.

“Stone cold serious, Sammy. Hell, we just did what Dad wanted since day one. You got Jess avenged. I got Mom avenged. Dad’s upstairs now, looks like. Maybe, probably.” Dean didn’t feel any better as he was rattling off their accomplishments. This just sucked big time. “Look, Dad’s happy, you’re happy, I’m going to Hell, and I’m damn well taking you back to your normal apple pie life.”

Yes, there was relief, but mostly he just felt more and more alone as he spoke. He knew he was rattling off all the people that had left him, had left the both of them. All of them dead. They weren’t coming back, and neither was Sammy, after he’d delivered him back to his dream life that Dean had ripped him away from so long ago. It felt like a lifetime of just them together, the life Dean had always wanted but never dared to dream of while Dad was still alive. For a while there, he’d had bliss.

Dean couldn’t bear to think about any of this. He was determined not to, so he kept talking. “I’m just following through on our deal, little brother, it’s only fair.”

“C'mon, man,” Sam drawled. “Get real, I can’t go now.”

Dean wasn’t going to be swayed. He just put his money on the worst case scenario, so he at least knew where he stood.

“I’m sure Stanford's been waiting for their golden boy,” – Dean’s golden boy - “for two years now. Mission accomplished, bitch, time to go pursue that American dream. Be all you can be.”  

“Dude, that's the army's slogan,” Sam protested, of course correctly.

Dean honestly couldn’t give a rat’s ass at this point, thinking and arguing was interfering with his driving and the pounding in his brain. “Well, whatever those geek hippies say to get you all tingly for book worming.”

“Cut it out, Dean, I can't go now,” Sam spread his hands in front of the dash, as if that indicated the shithole Dean was in, his death sentence.

“Yes you can, you dork.” Dean could hear his own voice rising, even though he was trying to stay calm. Why couldn’t Sam just agree with him and let it all go? “You have to. We made a deal. I make good on my debts.”

“Dean, will you for fuck's sake stop the car and see reason?” Sam yelled back.

Dean slammed on the brakes so hard they both should’ve hit the windscreen by all rights, except for the fact that they’d gotten so used to his driving, they both easily got away with bracing themselves.

Dean liked it here on the open road, where he felt most in his element. This was the place he’d grown up in, the simple dynamics he knew most intimately - just the road, his Baby and only the people next to him that he knew best in all the world.

His whole life, spent in his beloved car with Dad and Sammy, had now boiled down to one person, the same one he had devoted his life to up till now. The one person he was going to have to let go and never see again in the sorry excuse for a lifetime he had left. His days were literally numbered, without anything to offer Sam. He was not going to drag his amazing, awesome, and very deserving brother down with him.

Instead of sitting in the middle of the road, he commanded Baby to coast to the side before putting her in park. Even though there hadn't been any traffic at this hour, old driving habits died hard.

The sudden stillness increased the throbbing ache over his right eye, trying to drill a hole through his brain. He wished he had painkillers in the glove compartment and made a note-to-self to throw some in later, for what it was worth at this point.

“What kind of reason should I be seeing, huh?” Dean finally asked, turning towards Sam, while trying to take pressure off his neck. Dean waited for whatever would spill out of his brother. He figured he'd given Sam enough openings. He willed Sam to take up one of them, any of them, because his way only lay death and damnation.

“I'm gonna save you whether you like it or not,” Sam stated. “You’re not getting rid of me yet. Look, Dean, you're not going to Hell on my watch. There must be something we can do. Bobby will help us, find a loophole, twist the damn deal back on them.”

Dean felt cold and calm. Nothing Sam was saying was going to warm him up, especially not since Dean knew there was no weaseling out of this contract. “Sammy, this deal has no out clause. There’s no cheating or lying my way out of this one.”

“There are always ways, things we can do, man. Listen, if we only-“

“Stop,” Dean heard himself say, still cold, still calm, though he really didn’t want to be any of those things. He wanted to be hot headed and speed down the Interstate, deliver Sammy to his future, and then drink himself into tomorrow. He didn’t want to think past any of that, and he really wished Sam would stop trying to save him, because there was no way he’d let Sam drop dead again because of him.

“Dean, you gotta think this through,” Sam continued plead for ‘reason’, obviously oblivious to what Dean had already formulated for himself from the moment he’d made the damned deal to save the most precious thing in the universe.  

Dean realized he could talk all he wanted in his head, but Sam wasn’t going to hear it. He’d have to start verbalizing if Sam was going to get a clue and let Dean do what he needed to do.

“I have, Sam.” He sighed, dead weary. He couldn’t follow it up with anything sensible, though, as pain shot through his right eye, just under where the gash was.

For some reason Sam didn’t start up with his endlessly optimistic possibilities again. Dean looked at his brother, who was waiting, all attention, all ears. Fuck, Sam actually wanted to know. Maybe Dean could bring himself to tell him the truth, how he felt, what he’d done. Maybe even why.

What the hell, life just got really short, hadn’t it?

“I didn't do this on a casual whim, Sammy. You were dead for two fucking days, man.”

Sam started again, then stopped himself in mid intention to speak. He waited, and Dean couldn't tell if Sam was surprised by that fact or if he'd just been hoping to hear more about what had actually happened to him. Neither he or Bobby had had time to tell him anything about his death before all Hell had broken loose.

Now that he felt he had Sam’s complete and undivided attention, Dean dared to forge ahead. “For two days I sat and stared at your lifeless body. My little brother, dead.” He heaved in a lungful of air, not wanting to remember the endless hours of being unable to move more than a few feet away from Sam’s corpse, and feeling swallowed up by what he had lost forever. He’d just tell it all detached-like and run through it quickly. It wouldn’t hurt if he did it that way. Well, it’d hurt less. Maybe. “I just couldn't find the will- All I knew was that I couldn't live like that. Like ever. So I made a call. She saw me coming for miles, man. She had my number from the get-go. She knew I’d pay anything to save you, to get you back. So,” he shrugged, “One year for me, Sammy. I’m not the best negotiator, looks like.”

He looked at Sam, hoping to find some kinship, some understanding, some recognition of his feelings reflecting in Sam's face. He wanted to reach out to him now, tell him everything. He wanted to let out the truths he seldom revealed, the things he avoided thinking about whenever possible. The dreams, the need, the urge to touch, getting stronger by the day, and how it was getting harder to ignore and act normal.

But Sam had rejected him last time, so no matter their agreement, in the end, Sammy didn’t want what he had asked for. The only conclusion left was that Sam truly wanted out of the Winchester life, quit Hunting and create a life for himself. More power to him, was Dean’s rational opinion on that. His heart though, his heart was bleeding at the thought of not being with Sam anymore, and he had no words to explain that to Sam.

Sam's gaze revealed nothing as he just sat there and watched him. Dean felt a kind of desperation starting to well up in his stomach. “You got your whole life to look forward to, Sammy,” he reminded his brother. “You’re done with Hunting.”

“No,” Sam said, and Dean could hear the icy chill in Sam’s voice, which even seemed to cut through the physical pain in his head with its finality. Was it the same tone he’d used earlier himself? Was Sam learning from him? Or had they both learned that from Dad?

“Whadaya mean, no?”

“I mean no,” Sam took a moment and then pinned Dean with eyes full of determination. “I’m not leaving until we find a way to get you out. I am going to save you, Dean, whether you like it or not.”

“You can’t,” Dean sighed. “The contract is iron clad. Full on mouth, tongue lock and everything. After what Dad gave up for me to pull me from the brink - I wasn’t supposed to be here anyway, so no big loss,” he added, without much thought, his head starting to hammer away steadily again.

“How dare you,” Sam growled, and ducked inwardly for a moment, obviously trying to put himself in check.

From the rage that flashed in his eyes, Dean thought for a second there that Sam might strike out violently. It was enough to get his subconscious defense mode up.

“Don’t you ever say that, Dean,” Sam repeated, more calmly now, and definitely not icy.

But Dean stood by what he’d said, even an imminent death sentence was worth it to save Sam. He would never regret what he’d done. He just regretted not bashing out a better deal for himself and getting more time. Given the same situation, he’d do it again in a heartbeat, every time. He knew he wouldn’t have stopped at anything, even if the Crossroads Demon had wanted to take him right there, right then. He would’ve traded his life for Sam’s. Maybe they wouldn’t have been able to slay the yellow eyed bastard, but to Dean there was nothing more important in the world than Sam. Not Dad’s mission, or his own needs, wants, desires. Nothing. No, Dean knew then as he knew now, he didn’t have any other choice. So he’d acted.

He looked away from Sam’s intense gaze. They were never going to see eye to eye on this. “Listen, Sam, Dad saved me. He paid the ultimate price. I should’ve been dead a year ago, Hell, even before that, when my life got swapped by that Reaper. I’m a walking corpse, man. I caused too much suffering already, and no one’s going to suffer to get me out of my fate, so help me.”

Sam moved up to him with fire in his eyes, slowly enough that Dean knew he wouldn’t need to fend him off. Sam’s unyielding face was quite lethal and hard. Dean had seen that before, when Sam had left for Stanford, then later at Stanford. He feared it was Sam working up to another ultimatum.

“None of that was your fault or your choice, Dean,” Sam said, voice low and deliberate with every word. “And if you think for one damn minute, that I will let you do the same for me, without a bloody fight to the death, you’ve not known me for all these years. There’s no way in hell I’ll let you die, Dean. Not on my watch, not on my account. We’ll find a way, we always do.”

Dean looked at his little brother, strong, bold, passionate. Twenty-four years of age and recently resurrected, Sam probably felt he was unstoppable. Dean had a smile forming despite all the intensity pouring off Sam. “If anyone can do it, it’s you, Sammy,” he said, even though he knew it was impossible, but he felt better somehow. Sam was on his side, and that was all he’d ever wanted.

Not _all_ , he corrected himself. Staring at a definitive timer kind of made it easier to stop lying to yourself, Dean noticed. There was more and he might as well go for broke.

“Sam, about our agreement-”

Sam sighed deeply and leaned back in his seat, removing himself as a threat, but now he seemed like a lion, licking his wounds in his lair. “I can manage, until we get you free,” he said, clearly uncomfortable.

But Dean had had two years to think about this, deal with this, and one year since his own offer had been refused. He still didn’t know why. He had been okay with having sex with Sam, truly. He had found himself wanting it, had finally admitted it to himself and then had completely submitted to the undeniable truth of it. Nowadays, he dreamed about it, and sometimes it would become so real, he’d woken up with the biggest raging hard-on that would not be ignored.

Pretty much like the hard-on he was growing now, despite the concussion he figured he had. He knew he was still bleeding from the gash on his forehead, but he’d sleep it off later. Much later. Now he needed to deal with Sam, and the unspeakable sexual agony between them.

There was something about being close to Sam that made it worse. No, it wasn’t a visual thing for Dean, like lusting after a hot chick walking by. With Sam, he felt it in his blood, in his nervous system. It went deep, straight to his core. Of course, he thought his brother was drop dead gorgeous and hotter than Hell, but that wasn’t news. Sam always had been stunning and probably always would be.

Dean wondered if he was willing to finally talk about it, mano a mano, like bros, dealing with it head-on and solving the pressure that had slowly built up over the past two years. Maybe then they could figure this fucking weird thing out. Hell, Dean knew they’d left normal eons ago, and he’d actually started to wonder if they’d ever been close to it, given, well, pretty much their entire lives.

So he had to give it a shot. He was praying Sam would finally discuss this calmly. He was also praying he wouldn’t retreat either, because Dean felt like bolting just considering what he was about to say.

“Just how bad is it, Sammy?”

Sam wrung his hands together, his eyes flicking from Dean to the dash, back to his hands and just plain all over the place. “You don’t wanna know, trust me,” he said, the savage growl not quite gone.

Dean had always known there was a feral part to his brother. He felt an echo of it in himself, that wild, undomesticated nature that had been bred into them by the Hunting life. But with Sammy it was different. There was something inside him that was clearly less manageable and tore through him more harshly. From the few glimpses Dean had seen, this untamed force figured heavily into Sam’s sex drive.

“Try me,” he said, determined to deal with whatever Sam was willing to lay out there. This was for Sammy.

His brother cast him a piercing glance. Maybe Sam was making up his mind about the same thing, maybe he figured there was limited time left. Maybe-

Sam interrupted into his thoughts with, “The urge to possess you.” Sam’s voice lay low and breathy in his throat, making him sound like the savage Dean suspected lurked under his harmless boy-next-door veneer. “With you sitting this close, Dean, it’s trying to overtake me, telling me to ravage you.”

Sam’s dark passion and his burdened features stunned Dean into silence. Granted, he had expected some intensity from his brother about it, seeing the sexual hostility Sam had used on him at Stanford. But Dean had assumed his brother had just been pissed off at him and had wanted to drive the point home, or purposefully drive Dean away. Either way, Sam had been successful. Dean had stayed away to protect Sam from himself, from his delusions, even though it had been the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life.

Sure, Dean had had his share of illicit fantasies before then, even about Sam, but had always put them off as fantasies, condemning Sam for taking them for more than that. That had been reasonable at the time. But after all that had happened between them, Dean couldn’t feel the moral judgement anymore, or a sense of protecting Sam from his lust for Dean. All he could see now was what Sam wanted possess him, to fuck him, and all things considered, especially tonight, what was so horrible about that, in comparison with the real evils in their lives? And Dean couldn’t deny wishing it even for himself anymore.

He wanted Sam. He desired Sam.

Sam was a part of him. Not to be with him was like an open wound that just never stopped bleeding. Dean didn’t even have words for it, was utterly unable to express it verbally. The thought of leaving Sam tore him up inside. Then to hear from Sam that being near him actually hurt Sam, that was something Dean hadn’t expected or even imagined. He struggled to put this new information into perspective.

Had he been a source of conflict, ache and suffering for two years for Sam? Had he been putting out an actual sexual Siren song that Sam had endlessly refused to give into? How much restraint had Sam needed every moment of every day they had spent together?

Dean could only imagine how exhausting that must be for Sam, but he never showed it. He’d probably had to mask it for so long, he’d become a fucking expert. Hell, that’s all they did anyway, every day, every job, act like they’re someone else. It had become too easy, and they could hide anything from each other now, even something as devastating, as important, as overpowering as this.

Dean’s heart was bleeding at the thought of the torture he’d put Sam through forcing him to spend each day together. He hadn’t wanted any of that, ever, if he’d actually known how destructive and unforgiving his presence was to Sam’s whole existence, he would’ve left Sam alone a long time ago. Even now he was having a hard time wrapping his brain around it, but he had heard Sam. He believed Sam. He knew this was the horrible truth for his brother. And Dean refused to add to his pain a second longer.

“The way I see it, all the more reason for me to get the hell out of your life, Sammy,” Dean took charge again. He couldn’t stand to see the raw reality in Sam’s eyes, and the tension in his whole body, which had suddenly become plainly evident to him, now that he knew what to look for.

It was like his vision had suddenly cleared and he could recall all the moments Sam had cleverly dodged his touch, stealthily scooted just out of range, and quietly rolled away from him when sleeping too closely.

Dean didn’t know how Sam had managed this burden for so long, but he vowed for his brother’s sanity, this had to stop.

“I don’t wanna fucking hurt you like that,” Dean said definitively, “I get why you didn’t tell me, man, but how did you even get through the past two years? It must’ve been murder.”

Sam nodded, noticeably collecting himself again. “At first, all I could think of was to get away, to recapture my life at Stanford. But after a while, I realized that no matter what I did about it, Jess was still gonna be gone. And when the visions started, that’s when I knew I was never going to be normal. I was unclean. I _am_ unclean,” he corrected himself, shifting slightly, which told of the never-ending strain and restlessness he was enduring, and would always go through, every second Dean was near him.

Dean felt his blood aching to boil. He refused to be such torment to his brother. He wanted to hit the gas so hard and put Sam on the first bus to Sacramento, right now, but he clamped down on his instinct. They had to do this by consensus this time or one of them would come looking for the other again. He knew himself and Sammy far too well for that by now.

Sam sighed unhappily. “I get that I would make a very bad husband for any unsuspecting girl, you know. I’d be dreaming of you at night, even if you’re half a country away. Hell, I’d be fucking you in my head while I was making love with her, Dean. I swear it. I know I can’t do that that to anyone. I won’t. Maybe I did have a shot with Jess once, before spending two years with you, alone, without Dad, but now. I’m ruined, man. I can’t even pretend to be normal anymore. With what the Yellow Eyed Demon did, I’m not fit for human company. At least now I know-” Sam seemed to run out of words. Or maybe he just didn’t want to dredge up what kind of lies that Yellow Eyed bastard had tried to put in his head.

Dean didn’t know which, but he was glad Sam was talking plainly. They had a shot at solving this together, at leaving each other with a minimal amount of pain if they actually talked to each other like rational people. Maybe they could find a way for Sam to rediscover that normal life he’d always craved, but never got. And Dean would fade away on the back roads of the great plains of America.

Yes. That would be how it would go down. That was a scenario Dean could get into, and he’d be peaceful, when his time came. Probably drunk as a skunk, but at least Sam wouldn’t have to witness his final moment. He could spare his brother that, and he would live on in Sam’s memories, knowing Sam had gotten out, and he was safe.

“Sure you are, Sammy. Why, you’re as normal as apple-pie, apart from a bit of the freaky psychic stuff. I’m sure all that crap will fade now that we put the damn demon down.” Dean thought he was on a roll, this was going well, comforting Sam. He felt all puffed up, like he had the answer to everything right there, sitting on his golden tongue. “Yellow Eyed Asshat was just making shit up to scare you. You’re not unclean, never were. You were the most innocent wide-eyed kid I’ve ever known, man. Ain’t nothing wrong with you that another chance with a nice girl and a preppy university can’t fix.”

Sam smiled grimly and there was something lurking behind those soulful varied-colored eyes that was creeping Dean out. “At this point, Dean,” Sam whispered slowly and plainly, “I’m controlling this so tight - I’d probably lose my self-control and physically assault whomever I was making love to.”

The words came out of Sam’s mouth, but Dean couldn’t accept that as true. Sammy assault an innocent? He would never.

But Sam’s eyes told him to believe it, or damage would happen.

Sam continued, face crumpling with guilt or regret, Dean couldn’t tell which, “I wouldn’t ever put a woman in that danger. And I won’t unleash that on you either.”

Dean wasn’t ready to believe that Sam would sexually assault him. “You think you can rape me?”

Sam pinned him with his gaze, filled with relentless honesty and a no trespassing sign. “Given half a chance, Dean, I know I will.”

Dean wiped the whole notion off the table. “You would never hurt me that way, Sammy. Don’t you try to tell me any different.”

“I could, but I don’t want to.” Sam visibly pulled himself together and sucked in a huge breath. “That’s why the agreement has to stay in place. You and me, we go fight this thing, this Crossroads deal, and I promise not to touch you until we’re done.” Sam nodded, as if he had just made up their minds for both of them.

In the midst of his nauseatingly pounding head, Sam’s words were finally ringing clear as a bell to Dean. Sam still wanted him. Sam’s attraction to him had not faded, it had just been controlled, suppressed.

Dean thought back to Sam leaving for Stanford. He’d said it then. When Sam had kissed him and told him that he had wanted Dean for his lover – to fuck and be fucked. Dean had assumed it had been some sort of psychotic episode or empty threats, or even just a way to piss Dean off enough to let Sam go.

Now Dean had to admit Sam had probably just been honest with him, from the very beginning, all the way through. Dean finally dared to believe it was all true. Maybe they could share something together that he hadn’t thought possible before. Maybe they could smooth out this aching need that Dean was increasingly feeling so deep in his gut, his soul. This wasn’t just a sexual fantasy, this was his need for Sam, a need to be closer, to merge. A need to touch and become one.

What with the deal he’d made, the bed he knew he must lie in, Dean had nothing left to lose, not even Sam. So he dared to repeat his offer from a year ago, only more bluntly. “What if I wanted you to, ah, fuck me stupid?”

Sam stopped dead in his tracks. “What?”

Dean tried again. “What if I want you to get rough with me, to touch me. What if I want more than what we’ve had. What if I gave you what you asked for at Stanford? Hell, before Stanford. What if I need that from you?”

He felt he was babbling, but Sam just kept staring at him, not moving, nothing. Then, finally, Sam asked, disbelievingly, “Do you really?”

Dean hated everything about this moment. He hated to throbbing of his head, signaling the concussion he was sure he had. He hated convention, society, morality, how he was raised, and Dad’s whole damn legacy. He hated himself for having wasted years while running scared, hiding behind the guise of protecting Sam. He hated Sam for not just ravaging him already. “Remember last year? I fucking needed you then, Sammy. I asked you to, I offered myself up on a platter. Why didn’t you ‘assault’ me then, huh?”

“Seriously?” Sam was clutching the bench with one hand and the dash with the other, frustration written all over him. “Are you insane? You were as good as dead, Dean. Then suddenly you’re alive and tell me you want to give yourself to me? Hell no. Dad wasn’t even cold yet. Never, Dean.”

Dean smirked, cheerlessly. “See, told ya. You can’t hurt me, Sammy, even if you think you can.”

“Dean, even if you really want this, you got to understand I can’t control it. Maybe you think it’s all about love or affection, it’s not. No matter how much I love you, this need for you is like a flood. I either hold the dam or it will swallow us both.”

Dean knew all about being swept away by hormones, by passion. He knew Sam was trying to say how extreme this would be for him, but Dean believed he could keep enough control for the both of them. Hell, that’s what he’s done their entire lives, so why stop now?

“I’m already dead. Look, I’ll take my chances if we can be together. We’d be outlaws, again, and freaks, again. None of that is new. We’ve been outsiders our whole lives, Sammy. We can handle it. Besides, in a year, you’ll be rid of me. You can start a real life for yourself. In the meantime no one needs to know. I’d rather live the high life with you, while I’m still here, than deliver you to Stanford tomorrow and wait for my time to come with a bottle in one hand and a babe in the other.” He laughed coldly out loud, despite his head pointedly protesting the jarring, “If I’m that lucky, that is.”

He winked at Sam, trying to keep his bravado up. He felt the veneer cracking under the dizziness and nausea that were threatening to take him over, fearing it would crumble soon.

To be honest, Dean wasn’t sure that he could muster up enough macho bullshit to talk any more girls into his bed, after tonight, after this. Even if Sam refused him again, Dean could no longer deny that Sam was the one he needed, and it was becoming clear to him as he talked, that he wanted no one else.

“You’re it for me, Sammy,” he confessed blearily. He marveled at hearing his own words. “I started with you, and I will end with you.”

“No, Dean,” Sam looked like he was about to launch himself off of Baby’s bench, from the tension that was pouring off him. “I won’t let it end. I’ll save you.”

“You can’t,” Dean said, too weary to explain the limitations of the deal with the goddamn Crossroads bitch. His head was pounding and the air in the car was getting stuffier by the minute. “I hate to interrupt this heart to heart, Sammy, but I need to crash. Either here or we find a place. But my head,” he reached for the gash he knew he would find above his right eye, feeling the crusted blood there, which he’d not taken the time to tend yet, “is just killing me.”

He’d been so focused on getting Sam to Stanford that he’d not even thought about tending wounds or sleep or anything. Now Stanford seemed to have been taken off the menu, he was starting to feel feverishly happy about it. He wasn’t sure where they would go from here, or what they would be to each other, but he knew he just had to stop. He had to rest. He had to put his head down and swallow a bottle of assorted painkillers.

When Dean looked up, Sam had lost all his tension and impossibly gently, his hand reached over to Dean’s head. Sam moved closer, inspected the wound and muttered colorful expletives under his breath, which made Dean smile with pride. Then Sam wrapped both arms around Dean’s shoulders and pulled his brother to him.

“What?” Dean asked, not knowing if this was Sam putting the moves on him in the dorkiest, clumsiest way possible, or something else.

“Scoot this way,” Sam cajoled him in a half hug to the passenger side, and got out of the car, disappearing in the pitch black for a moment, clipping each headlight as he passed the front of Baby, and got in the driver’s side. Dean realized he must be further gone than he felt, because he breathed a sigh of relief at relinquishing the wheel to his Baby.

It was Sam so it was okay.

“I’m taking care of you for a change, Dean,” Sam said decisively. “There was a B and B a while ago. I’m sure it’s too flowery for you, it’ll give you something to be grumpy about. But the sheets will be minty fresh, and you need a shower.”

Dean smirked, didn’t want to protest for real, but couldn’t help piping up with, “That’s just so you can seduce me with strawberry scented shampoos and all. Maybe sprinkled muffins in the morning?”

Sam put Baby in drive and gently threw a U-turn. “Careful what you wish for, man,” Sam quipped. “You know, one of these days, I might just say yes.”

Dean could hear the warning behind the words, but he was sure Sam’s protests would fade in time. Sam had already mellowed in the past hour, so it was just a question of time. Now that Dean knew where they both stood and he knew they were going to be together, he was content to just keep chipping away at Sam’s resolve. One day, hopefully before the Hellhounds came for him, Sam would be his.

Dean smiled and snuggled into the corner between the bench and the door, so he could have a good view of Sam driving Baby. His favorite man in his favorite car.

“I’m counting on it,” Dean teased back, “I mean, look at me. Who can resist this luscious body for long?”

Dean felt his eyes wanting to close on him with promise of pain free slumber. That would deprive him of the most beautiful sight in the world, his whole reason of existence, sitting right there in one package.

“Keep trying, Jerk,” Sam grinned, “You might convince me yet.”

Dean vowed silently that he would spend the rest of his life making Sam his in every possible way Sam wanted. He would spend his last year on Earth with the man he loved, making the most of it, free of fear and guilt.

“Bitch,” he whispered affectionately, feeling sleep lure him in. “You’re mine and you know it.” Dean roused himself just enough to listen to Sam’s gentle, loving voice and make out his answer before blissful nothingness claimed him.

“Hell, Dean, I’ve always been yours.”

 

[ _the end_ ]

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Dear Reader,_  
>  This was my first Wincest story and I absolutely loved writing it! I'm sorry I wasn't able to work in a happy sex scene at the end. Maybe in a sequel? ;-) The boys really deserve some good lovin'!  
> Thank you sooo much for reading!  
> 


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